


To Err is Human

by Love_all_the_fandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Sam Winchester First Time, Fallen Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6282823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_all_the_fandoms/pseuds/Love_all_the_fandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is now a human and has been thrown out of the bunker by Dean for reasons he can’t understand. Unbeknownst to his brother Sam leaves the bunker to find Cas and teach him how to be a human; important lessons such as how to love and when to hate, and how to tie his shoelaces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

**Author's Note:**

> Based in season 9. Canon divergence, obviously. Most importantly though, Cas ends up wandering the country instead of finding a job, because let’s face it, getting a job is hard enough even when you have the correct paperwork. Also Cas is initially rescued by Sam and Dean before he sleeps with the reaper, just because I hated that.

Sam was sitting in the bunker, scouring the Internet for any sign of the former angel, the same thing he’d been doing all day, every day since Cas had disappeared. He couldn’t understand why Cas had left the bunker, but he was determined to find him and bring him home. It wasn’t safe for him out there, and Sam was acutely aware that the angel-turned-human had no idea how to keep his newly mortal body alive and in one piece.

On the one hand Sam was glad that he couldn’t find any sign of Cas, because every avenging angel from Heaven and all the demons in Hell were also scouring the planet for him, and some of them would also know how to use the Internet. On the other hand, _where the hell was he?!_

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, noting with resignation the clumps that came out in his shaking fingers. The trials had taken more of a toll on him than he wanted to admit, and his worry for Cas was making it worse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up pain and anxiety free. Dean kept fussing over him like a mother hen over its chick and it was driving Sam crazy; especially since Dean couldn’t seem to muster the same concern for his supposed best friend, who was undoubtedly in more danger than Sam was.

His brother was out now, working a case on his own, and Kevin was locked away in a room somewhere because Sam had apparently been ‘tapping the keyboard too loudly.’ Sam was just glad to be left alone to continue his search without the constant admonishments about sleeping and eating.

The unending cycle of useless thoughts was broken by the phone ringing. Sam jumped in surprise, before picking it up and puzzling over the unknown number.

“Hello?” he asked, tentatively.

“Sam?” asked a familiar, gravelly voice.

Sam leaped into the air, knocking his chair over in his haste. “ _Cas_?” he whispered, hardly daring to hope. “Cas! Castiel, angel, where are you? I’ve been searching for you everywhere!”

“I’m in some town called Colorado Springs,” Cas said, sounding infinitely tired. “I just wanted to call and see… how you were doing. I remembered your number,” he added, sounding obscurely proud of that achievement.

“Cas,” Sam said, trying to sound calm. “Cas, I need you to listen to me very carefully, and follow my instructions to the letter. Do you understand me?”

“Sam?” Cas asked, sounding confused.

“Do. You. Understand. Me?” Sam gritted out, all intentions of sounding calm evaporating instantly. “Castiel, if you don’t do what I tell you now, I swear I will hunt you down, drag your ex-feathery ass back here and throw you in the dungeon for the rest of your mortal lifespan. Now, will you do as I say?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He held his breath.

“Yes,” Cas said, sounding suitably subdued.

“Good,” said Sam, letting his breath out in a gusty sigh of relief. “Now, Cas, is there a diner nearby? Can you see one?”

“Yes, across the street.”

 “OK, what’s its name?” Sam picked the chair back up and started typing the name into Google as Cas dutifully read it out. “Right, I want you to go to that diner, and stay there until I come get you. I’ll be a few hours, but do not leave for any reason. _Any reason_. I don’t care if World War Three breaks out, you stay in that diner until I get there, ok?”

After extracting several promises to stay put from an increasingly confused and exasperated Castiel, Sam hung up and quickly finished looking up the diner. He dialed the number with shaking hands, hoping to either charm or bribe someone into keeping an eye on his ex-angel until he got there. Because, despite Cas’s assurances, Sam did not trust him to stay put, and he was _not_ going to lose him again.

“Hello, Highway Diner, Janice speaking.”

“Janice,” the hunter said, trying to get his voice under control. “My name is Sam. I know this is unusual, but I need to ask you a favor.”

“Sure honey, what do you need?” the woman asked kindly.

“My cousin will be walking through the door any second now; he just called me from a payphone. His name is Cas; he has black hair and blue eyes. He’s a bit… not all there. I’ve been looking for him for weeks. I was hoping… would you be able to give him some food, and keep an eye on him? I’ll be there as soon as I can, I just… I need to know he’ll be ok until then.”

Sam held his breath. Please, _please_.

“Don’t you worry yourself one little bit,” the woman said firmly. “I see the poor lad coming in now. I’ll take good care of him.”

“Bless you,” Sam whispered into the phone, hanging up and sprinting for the bunker’s garage.

* * *

Sam practically bolted into the diner, forcing himself to slow down as he looked for Cas, trying not to let the anxiety show on his face. He spotted him immediately, sitting at a corner table, looking dejectedly into the mug in his hands. A couple of empty plates sat on the table and Sam sighed with relief at this indication that the former angel had been taken care of. He was across the room almost as fast as if he had angel wings himself.

“Cas, hey Cas, are you ok?” Sam asked anxiously, crouching down beside his friend, a hand on his shoulder. Cas looked at him somewhat blearily and Sam wondered how often he’d slept since becoming human.

“Sam,” Cas said in greeting, his familiar husky voice now sounding even rougher. “It’s good to see you.”

Sam smiled in relief, squeezing his friend’s shoulder slightly in reassurance. “And you, Cas. Now, before we go, which waitress looked after you? Where’s Janice?”

Cas looked around before pointing over to a woman in her early fifties, with short gray hair and a kind face, who was cleaning the ice-cream machine.

“Ok, Cas. I need to go say thank you. You stay here, sweetheart, ok? Don’t move.” Cas nodded as Sam rose and went over to the woman he had so much cause to be thankful towards.

“Janice?” he asked her. When she turned to look at him he smiled and put out his hand. “I’m Sam, we spoke on the phone. Thank you so much for looking after my cousin, I’ve been searching for him and…” Sam was surprised when his voice hitched a little, and he felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. Janice looked at him sympathetically.

“It was no trouble, Sam. He was no bother and I was happy to help,” Janice squeezed his hand gently, and Sam was filled with a warm affection for her.

“I see you gave him something to eat, this should cover it,” Sam said with a smile, pressing a wad of cash into the surprised woman’s hand. Before she could protest he was gone, gripping Cas by the shoulder as he steered him out of the diner and towards the car.

They didn’t say a word on the drive to the motel. Sam felt a treacherous tear run silently down his cheek and didn’t trust himself to speak. Cas for his part seemed to be either asleep or at least completely out of it. When they got to the motel Sam checked them in and got the purchases he’d stopped for on the way to get Cas, begrudging every second. When they reached their room the hunter and the former angel regarded each other properly for the first time.

Sam felt his breath hitch, Cas looked awful. His normally piercing blue eyes were dull from lack of sleep, his skin was sallow and his borrowed clothes hung off his lanky frame like a sheet on a child. Sam looked down into his friend’s eyes for a long moment, before pulling him into a rough hug. He felt Cas let out a shuddering breath and relax against him, as if letting go of some great burden. They stood like that for longer than Sam knew was appropriate, but he was unwilling to let go, fearing that if he did Cas would disappear and this would all turn out to be a dream born from desperation.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Sam,” Cas said at last, stepping back. He looked down, seeming ashamed. “I’m afraid I don’t make a very good human.”

Sam snorted with laughter, and Cas looked up, confused. “Cas,” he said, “ _I’m_ not a very good human, and I’ve been practicing for over thirty years. You’ve been one less than thirty days. Give it time.”

A tiny smile graced the corner of Cas’s mouth and Sam felt his spirits lift in response. The former angel was the first to break eye contact and Sam blushed, realizing he’d been staring. He hoped Cas was still new enough to humaning not to read too much into his behavior since he’d fetched him from the diner.

“Now,” he said, covering up his sudden embarrassment with a business-like attitude, “first things first. Sit on the edge of this bed.” Cas complied, without a whimper of complaint. He frowned but didn’t protest as Sam took out a thermometer and instructed him to hold it under his tongue. The hunter grabbed the former angel’s wrist and looked at his watch while Cas stared at him with wide eyes.

After thirty seconds Sam released his friend’s wrist. “A little fast,” he muttered, before smiling at the ex-angel. “But that’s normal after what you’ve been through, and considering I’m manhandling you.” He gently took the thermometer out of Cas’s mouth and looked at it. “Good,” he murmured. A number of other little tests followed, Cas was passive through all of it, which was beginning to worry Sam more than his physical state. Cas was many things but ‘passive’ and ‘compliant’ had never been two of them.

“Do you have any injuries, Cas?” Sam asked him gently. Cas nodded reluctantly, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat.

“Show me,” he commanded.

Cas pulled the faded shirt over his head obediently and turned his back. Sam sucked in a breath. Cas’s left shoulder blade was a mess; it looked like he’d been dragged across a gravel surface on it. It seemed to have happened fairly recently, the wound looked raw and nasty but not infected.

Sam bit his tongue, hard. There would be plenty of time to ask questions later. Plenty of time to find out who’d hurt his angel, and take them apart piece by piece. First, he needed to make a few things clear to his newly-human friend.

“Castiel,” he said, his tone a warning that he intended the former angel to take him seriously. Cas turned to look directly at him, and Sam shivered. Having Cas’s undivided attention was unnerving, even without his earth-shattering powers.

“You can’t let wounds like this go untreated. The wound itself might not kill you, but an infection could. Ok?”

His friend nodded, a defeated expression on his face that made Sam feel sick to his stomach.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll have a little lesson on taking care of wounds, ok?” Sam said, gentling his tone a little. He pulled the former angel up from the bed and guided him to the bathroom. Cas didn’t seem to mind being bossed around, which was lucky because Sam wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop fretting over his friend for a while yet. He felt a sudden sympathy for Dean; maybe _he_ needed a lesson from Cas on being patient when people were fussing needlessly over you.

Sam grabbed Cas a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a towel with some soap. “Do you know how to use the shower?” he asked, trying not to sound patronizing, but needing to be sure. It certainly smelled like Cas hadn’t seen a shower since leaving the bunker. Cas nodded again. Then nodded a bit more firmly when Sam hesitated. Eventually the hunter backed out of the bathroom and allowed his friend to get on with tending to the needs of his now entirely human body.

* * *

Cas looked at the shower in bemusement. He sighed. He hadn’t wanted Sam to know that this shower was different from the ones at the shelter, and the one at the bunker. It hurt his pride that he’d had to rely on Sam so heavily already, although it felt _so good_ to be fussed over and taken care of. There hadn’t been a lot of affection or care in his life. That hadn’t seemed to matter when he was an angel, but now he was human Cas was acutely aware of an empty ache that he couldn’t put a name to.

Castiel the Angel of the Lord had never not been able to take care of himself. He had lived for millennia, seen the birth and death of entire solar systems, been in innumerable battles, and had watched over the humans since the first fish walked out on to the land. But it was now clear to Cas that for all the countless centuries of his vigil, he’d never truly understood his charges. He understood now. Oh, how he understood. It was maddening, the cold, the heat, the dirt, the smell, the hunger, the thirst; it was an unending cycle of misery.

No, Castiel had not enjoyed being human. That is, not until Sam had put his fingers on his wrist and taken his pulse. The physical sensation of being touched so caringly; a warm hand on his arm, the gesture of concern and friendship, it had sparked something in his now-human heart. A warmth that spread like a fire from where Sam had held his wrist, all the way to his toes. Cas didn’t understand what that feeling meant, but the comfort he’d felt from it had been undeniable.

He glared at the shower. Instead of two taps it was one stick looking thing. Humans! Why didn’t everything with the same function look the same? He pushed and pulled experimentally at the metal stick until a spray of water came out of the shower head. A stream of very _hot_ water. He jumped back with a yelp, and immediately the door was open. Cas felt his neck heat up as he realized Sam had been hovering just on the other side of the door, waiting for any sound of distress. He bowed his head and waited for the derision the men at the refuge had shown when he couldn’t figure out simple things, like buttons. ‘Touched’ they had called him.

But Sam just gave him a quick smile, and reached over to shut off the water.

“You can just ask me, you know,” he chided gently. “That’s what friends are for. I thought you’d have trouble with this one. Look, like this. You push it towards the red for hot, the blue for cold. Push it in to stop it, pull it out to start it. Always start a little bit cold, and work it back towards a temperature you like, or else you might burn yourself.”

Sam turned around and looked at him, and Cas saw only gentle concern in his friend’s face, no hint of mockery. Cas felt a tell-tale prickling behind his eyes and bitterly reflected on all the times he’d seen humans cry, never understanding the strength of emotion that triggered the bodily reaction. Sam somehow sensed his discomfort and left him alone to continue his shower, and Cas wondered how his friend had known that a friendly touch or word would have undone him right then.

He wondered if he’d ever understand the subtle nuances of human interaction that seemed to come so naturally to everyone around him.

* * *

Sam hastily got changed into pajamas and prepared some other little things for when his wayward ex-angel reappeared, keeping an ear out at all times for any more sounds of distress. He also warded the room as thoroughly as he could, and brought in some weapons from the car. Cas was Numero Uno on Heaven and Hell’s most wanted list, and he could not afford to become complacent now he had the angel back under his watchful eyes.

Cas eventually appeared dressed in the loose cotton shirt and pants Sam had bought for him to sleep in. His hair was soaking wet and Sam was over to his side in two seconds flat, grabbing the towel out of his surprised friend’s hands and flinging it playfully over his head.

“Dry your hair, Cas! You’ll catch your death walking around like that.”

“I’ll catch my… what?” Cas asked, voice muffled by the towel as he ineffectually scrubbed at his hair. “That makes no sense.”

When the towel came off it was all Sam could do to keep a straight face. Cas’s hair stuck out in every direction, and he looked so rumpled and grumpy and adorable that Sam itched to hug him. But he restrained himself saying instead “Sit down on the bed, angel.”

“Angel no more,” Cas said gloomily, sitting down as requested.

“You’ll always be an angel to me,” Sam said under his breath. Out loud he said “I stand corrected. Now, take your shirt off so I can fix up your wound. Watch me in the mirror, I want you to see what I’m doing so you can do it yourself if necessary.”

 

Cas obediently turned his head to the side, watching not so much what Sam was doing, but the intent expression on his face as he did it, trying to read his human friend.

Sam squirted something on his hands first, explaining gently all the while – ‘ _hand sanitizer Cas, you’ll need to use this a lot, it stops the spread of germs’_ – then the next step – ‘ _this is Betadine Cas, it’ll kill any bacteria but it might sting a bit’_ \- and the gentle swipe of the iodine-soaked cotton ball over his abraded flesh. Cas felt himself wince, and saw Sam wince in sympathy, gently brushing his fingertips around the sore places, as if trying to take the pain away. Finally Sam put a dressing over the wound and the lesson was finished.

The next surprise was Sam opening up three pizza boxes Cas hadn’t noticed, and placing them on the table.

“I thought we’d start working out what your favorite foods are, Cas. If you don’t mind,” Sam looked hesitant and Cas smiled, Sam was trying to appease him with food, it was something he did on occasion for Dean. Cas had never appreciated how food could equate to love, but having been near starvation himself he now understood more than he’d ever wanted to about the place food held in human hearts.

“Ok,” Sam said, seemingly encouraged by the smile. “I got three different types of pizza, I got meat lovers, which is Dean’s favorite, vegetarian, which is mine, and pepperoni, because everyone loves pepperoni.”

Sam grinned as Cas practically began to drool.

 

“Does it hurt a lot?” Sam asked when he saw Cas moving around in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

“My other shoulder hurts worse, it’s all stiff.”

Sam got up and walked behind Cas, putting out his hand and gently massaging the stiff shoulder, digging his fingers into a tightly knotted bit of muscle. Cas gasped and dropped his slice of pizza, his sixth by Sam’s count. As he’d suspected, pepperoni was the one Cas liked best.

“Sam…” he gritted out, “what are you doing?”

Sam’s hands stilled. “Massaging your shoulder?” he said hesitantly, more question than statement. “Sometimes when a friend is in pain and they can’t reach the spot another friend will help…”

Sam’s hands dropped to his sides, realization sweeping over him.

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered, walking around the table and sitting heavily in the other chair.

“I didn’t say stop,” Cas grumbled. “It was pleasant. I just wanted to know what you were doing.”

“I know, Cas,” Sam groaned. “I’m a fool. I was so worried about your physical well-being I didn’t even think. You don’t know anything about interacting on a human level. About how we communicate with each other.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I’m communicating right now, Sam.”

“On one level, yes,” Sam replied, running his fingers through his hair, “but there are other ways. Oh _hell_ … it’s not like we go to human school, we just pick these things up over the course of our lives! It’s so hard to explain out loud.”

Sam took a deep breath, trying to think of an easy way to explain something that was nearly instinctual for everyone except the ex-angel sitting across from him. “Think of it this way Cas,” he said eventually. “There are lots of ways we interact with each other; firstly of course there’s language. What we say with words. Then, tone of voice, facial expression and body language, which tells you what the person actually _means_ when they say their words. If they’re being sincere or sarcastic or insulting and so on. And then, there’s touch. Every time I’ve ever touched you has had its own message. For example, in the diner, when I put my hand on your shoulder, it was to reassure myself that you were ok, and to reassure you that I was there.”

Cas was nodding slowly, he’d felt something like that when Sam had taken his pulse. Hearing it explained out loud, it made sense of the vague feeling of peace and happiness the touch had engendered in him.

Cas thought over the time since Sam had found him. He thought about the hug when they had reached the motel room, how he’d suddenly, finally, felt safe with Sam’s arms around him. How soothing it had been when his friend had gently, methodically dressed his wound. How Sam’s hand on his shoulder in the diner had been all that had stopped him from shaking to pieces. All of those seemingly simple gestures had said louder than words how much his friend cared. A new understanding of human behavior began to dawn on the ex-angel. Then another thought occurred to him.

“Personal space?” he asked hesitantly, and Sam grinned.

“Yeah, that’s part of it. Humans don’t like a certain area around them invaded by people they aren’t close to. In some cases, getting right up in someone’s personal space can be an act of intimidation. However, letting someone into that space can also be an act of trust.”

Cas blushed, remembering all the times Dean and Sam had chastised him for having no respect for what was clearly an important human concept. He knew he needed to learn more and soon, he’d already discovered what happened between humans when misunderstandings got out of hand. He felt at his shoulder and winced.

“Would you teach me more about this way of communication?” Cas asked, hesitantly.

Sam was taken completely off guard; he watched Cas’s face change as his own drained of blood.

“You don’t want to,” Cas said miserably, hunching in on himself. “Have I broken some kind of taboo by asking?”

“No, Cas,” Sam hastened to reassure his friend. “It’s just…” he hesitated. _It’s just that what I thought when you said that was morally bankrupt_ , he thought to himself grimly.

“It’s just there’ll be plenty of time for that later, and I haven’t even made you the best comfort drink of all time,” he deflected, hopping up, hoping that the prospect of some new treat would divert the former angel. Cas perked up, apparently food worked as well as a distraction on his friend as it did on his brother. That was good to know. Sam grinned, back on solid footing again.

 

Sam realized exactly what a horrible mistake he'd made as soon as Cas took his first sip. The look of almost sinful bliss on Cas’s face as he drank the hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows caused Sam to grit his teeth, dig his nails into his thighs, and think determinedly about unsexy things. Cold showers. Bed bugs. Getting stabbed.

When Cas’s pink tongue poked out to lick the cream off his top lip Sam had to excuse himself in a hurry. Cursing himself for a bad friend he stood with his back against the bathroom door until he felt it was safe to go back in the other room.

When he finally did return he smiled gently to himself, the angel-turned-human was sprawled face down on his bed, obviously too exhausted to even get under the covers. Sam got the bedspread from his own bed and laid it gently over his friend, before laying down himself.

It was a long time before he managed to sleep.

* * *

Sam was up long before Cas the next morning. He glanced at his phone, there were several missed calls and texts from Dean. He’d texted ‘ _Found Cas, we’re fine, we’ll be home in a few days_ ’ and apparently that had caused his brother to lose his mind. All of the texts from Dean followed a similar pattern of ‘where are you?’ punctuated with varying amounts of swearing. Sam was still righteously pissed off with his brother for allowing Cas to leave the bunker, so after another quick text that said ‘ _I said_ _we’re fine, I have things to do_ ’ he turned the phone off.

A snuffling sound alerted Sam to Cas’s impending wakefulness. Sam busied himself making toast, he had plans for the day, but he also had things he needed to ask Cas about his time away from the bunker. And he was certain he wasn’t going to like some of the answers.

Cas shuffled and groaned his way out of bed and Sam grinned.

“Just call me angel of the morning,” he whispered to himself. Cas glanced sharply in his direction, and Sam briefly wondered if Cas’s supernatural hearing had been partly down to Jimmy Novak.

“Too cheerful, Sam,” Cas grumbled, making his way blearily to the bathroom. Sam grinned even wider and added ‘not a morning person’ to the mental list he was compiling about Cas’s new-found humanity.

When he came back Sam placed a slice of toast with honey and one with jam in front of his friend, who immediately cheered up at the prospect of food. Sam wondered sadly if Cas would have been as fascinated by food if he hadn’t so obviously struggled to feed himself before Sam arrived.

Sam poured himself a bowl of cereal and came to sit at the table. He picked up his spoon and put it down again with a barely audible sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked around a mouthful of toast. Sam cursed to himself, the former angel was learning to read him, he’d have to start being more careful with his thoughts.

“Cas, I have to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer honestly. Some of them might be… uncomfortable.”

Cas thought that over, chewing absently. “Ok, Sam,” he said eventually. “I’ll answer as honestly as I can. But in return, I have questions of my own to ask.”

Sam nodded. That was fair. He breathed deeply in and out, trying to find the right words, unnerved by the piercing stare his friend was pinning him with.

“Cas… who hurt you?” he finally blurted out, clenching his fists under the table.

Cas’s eyes darkened and he looked down at his now-empty plate. He paused, and Sam knew his friend was considering lying. He might be a fast learner, but Cas hadn’t worked out how to hide his feelings effectively yet. Sam saw the moment Cas decided to honor their agreement, and felt obscurely proud of his friend for making a decision that was clearly going to cost him. Cas breathed in and out in unconscious mimicry of Sam’s earlier calming technique.

“A man driving a van. He saw me walking beside the road, and offered me a lift. When we got to Colorado Springs he wanted… payment I wasn’t willing to provide. When I refused he pushed me out of the car and drove off. It’s why I called you; I wanted to know… how to avoid making that mistake in future. I never expected you to come and find me.”

Sam hardly took in the last of what Cas said. As soon as the word ‘payment’ left Cas’s mouth he was filled with a rage so vast he felt the edges of his vision start to turn black. He knew exactly what sort of payment the man had wanted to extract. His mouth filled with blood and he realized he must’ve bitten his tongue in an effort to hold back the words he wanted to say.

 

Cas shrank back a little in his seat at the expression on Sam’s face. As an angel one of the emotions he had really understood was wrath. Humans hadn’t coined the term ‘avenging angels’ for nothing. However, the naked hatred on Sam’s face was terrifying in its intensity. The ex-angel stayed very still, like a deer who’d been surprised by an oncoming truck, and was reminded why everyone, angels and demons alike, were a little scared of the Winchesters. Slowly, slowly, the Sam that Cas knew, the kind, compassionate friend who had traveled across the country to rescue him, who had tenderly checked him for injuries and made him hot chocolate, came back.

Sam looked over and saw Cas huddled in his seat, and a string of emotions Cas couldn’t hope to identify chased themselves across his friend’s face. After a long second Sam just looked tired, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t seem to notice or care that long strands of that hair fell out under his touch. Then he seemed to think of something else.

“What do you mean you didn’t expect me to come for you?” Sam asked suddenly. He narrowed his eyes, and Cas saw the suspicion dawning there. “Cas… why _did_ you leave the bunker?”

Cas licked his lips. That was a question he definitely did not want to answer. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sam thought he’d left of his own accord, but if that’s what Sam thought he didn’t want to disabuse him of the notion. “I was putting you in danger,” he said, evasively.

“The bunker is warded against supernatural beings of every type, angels, demons, monsters, all of you,” Sam drummed his fingers on the table in agitation and Cas distractedly noted the use of the word ‘you.’ That seemed like a bad sign.

Sam stilled his hands and leaned across the table. Cas reflexively leaned back. He understood the personal space rule now.

“There is nowhere safer in the known world. Castiel… _why did you leave?_ ”

Cas rolled his shoulders, an old habit from when he had wings, and an unconscious signal that he was hiding something. Sam noticed, and something feral came into his eyes.

“ _Dean!_ ” he hissed.

* * *

Dean was at the bunker cursing his brother’s stubbornness and his own inability to find him; Sam had turned off the GPS tracking in his phone and Dean was fast running out of ideas. He ran a hand through his hair, looking again at the note his brother had pinned to the table - _Gone to find Cas, since you can’t be bothered_ \- and winced. The anger was evident in the fierceness of the scrawl, as well as in the words. He was worried about Cas too, of course he was. But he couldn’t risk Ezekiel leaving his brother before he was healed. Every second he was with the former angel put him at risk. Zeke would not stand for being so compromised for long.

His phone buzzed. A message from Sam. He read it quickly, and the blood drained from his face. It was two words. ‘ _I know_.’

There were two things Sam could have found out about, and only one of those things that his brother would forgive him for.


	2. Bright Copper Kettles and Warm Woollen Mittens

Sam had calmed down, not enough to forgive his brother, but enough to take Cas out for the day he had planned for them. There were so many things he wanted to show his friend, so many human experiences he wanted to share. Sam was well aware they didn’t have much time before either Dean, an angel, or a demon tracked them down, but there was enough time to take one day before things fell apart around them, as they inevitably did.

Today wouldn’t be perfect, the morning’s conversation had ensured that, but it would be as close as he could make it. He looked over at his friend, who was staring out the window, watching the scenery pass with a curiosity he’d never shown as an angel. He smiled. They would start where all the best days started. With ice-cream.

* * *

 “Just, take your shoes off, and trust me!” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. “You liked the ice-cream, now you’ll like the sand. I promise.” Sam reflected that the former angel was as bad as a toddler, every statement or request during the day had elicited the inevitable ‘but why?’ question.

Cas looked at the stretch of beach doubtfully, but did as he was told. As they walked along the sandy beach a reluctant smile graced his friend’s face. It was a beautiful day, the sky was a deep blue, there was a gentle sea breeze, and the susurrus of the waves on the shore was a soothing counterpoint to the raucous cries of the seagulls wheeling above. The hunter thought he couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day… or a more perfect person to share it with.

“”What are you thinking, Cas?” Sam asked, wanting to hear his friend explain the experience to him out loud. Today had turned out to be about so much more than helping Cas come to terms with his humanity; it was helping Sam recapture some of the joy that had been so conspicuously absent in his youth. The hunter felt like he was experiencing the world anew through Cas’s eyes; he was finding pleasure in so many things he usually took for granted, like the sensation of sand under his toes, or the feeling of ice-cream melting on his tongue.

“The texture is pleasing,” Cas declared, wriggling his toes in the sand. “I like the way that it is soft to walk on. The air smells nice too.”

Sam smiled a soft smile as Cas lifted his face to the breeze, his eyes closed in pleasure. After a minute the hunter left his friend standing there and wandered over to the ocean, rolling up his pant legs as he went. He walked out into the surf until the water just covered his ankles, and waited for a wave to roll in. When Cas didn’t follow, he turned back to see the ex-angel looking at him with confusion.

“Come on, Cas,” Sam called, “it’s not too cold!”

“But why?” Cas asked, head tilted to the side in that oh so familiar gesture of confusion. “There’s no need to put my feet in the ocean, I washed them this morning.”

Sam stood ankle-deep in the water with an eyebrow raised until Cas gave in and rolled his pants up, gingerly walking over to stand with the hunter.

Sam bit back a laugh as Cas almost, but didn’t quite, squeal when a wave washed up against his shins. He danced backwards and would have fallen in the water if Sam hadn’t grabbed an arm to keep him upright. And if he used that opportunity to hold Cas’s arm for longer than strictly necessary, well, no one was around to notice.

Cas smiled, a small smile that was as much an open declaration of enjoyment as a grin on anyone else’s face would have been. He made to wade further out in the ocean, but Sam held him back.

“We don’t know if you can swim yet, Cas,” Sam said in answer to his friend’s questioning look. Cas thought about that for a second, casting a longing look out to the deeper water.

“Let’s get some fish and chips instead,” Sam added, and Cas immediately turned to follow him up the beach, as Sam had known he would.

* * *

 “I have seen billions upon billions of sunsets. There is nothing special about it. It is just the Earth rotating on its axis.”

“Cas… just trust me will you?” Sam said with a knowing smile, grabbing an extra chip. They were sitting on a park bench on the bluffs overlooking the ocean, feeling pleasantly sandy and relaxed. Cas was clearly exhausted, the day had been overwhelming for him in a way his time on the streets hadn’t seemed to be, and the hunter supposed it was because he didn’t have the adrenaline to keep him going anymore.

He knew his friend would need a lot of time to process what had happened to him; Sam didn’t think the loss of his divine status had really hit Cas yet. Sam had seen a couple of moments during the day when Cas had tried to flex non-existent wings, and the look of anguish on his friend’s face each time, as he realized anew what he had lost, had nearly broken Sam’s heart.

They sat in silence as the sun moved slowly towards the horizon; each lost in their own thoughts, eating their chips and listening to the waves breaking on the rocks below.

As the sun reached the sea the blue of the sky turned to a dusky pink shot through with golden rays, and finally faded to a deep purple, the underside of the few scattered clouds radiating a golden glow against the deepening sky. Cas made a small sound, and Sam smiled. He’d stopped watching the sun well before it reached the horizon, choosing to watch Cas’s face instead. It was just as beautiful as the sunset.

“Now do you understand?” Sam asked softly.

Cas pulled his jumper sleeve over his hand and wiped his eyes.

“Why is it different?” he asked softly, awe still shining in his face.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, rubbing hands that had suddenly gotten cold as the sun disappeared from the sky. “Beauty moves us, Cas, especially the beauty of nature. I suppose it’s something that connects us. Everyone on the planet will at one point gaze upon a sunset in awe of something larger than themselves, and in gratitude that we survived another day.”

Cas was silent for a minute. “You have a poet’s soul, Sam. There is beauty in that also.”

Sam sighed. “No, Cas. I have the soul of a killer, and there is nothing awe-inspiring or beautiful about it.” He grabbed the last chip to emphasis his point, and pulled out the car keys.

“Now, come on, let’s get back to the motel before we freeze to death. That would really ruin the moment.”

* * *

After settling Cas on the couch in the room with popcorn and A New Hope in the DVD player, because as far as Sam was concerned you couldn’t really be human without having seen Star Wars, he went to look in the mirror on the dresser. He pulled his shirt up on the left hand side, wincing as he saw the purple bruise on his ribcage. He leaned closer to the mirror, poking at the bruise absently. He’d been getting bruises in random places, without ever having done anything to warrant them being there, and it was beginning to worry him.

He pulled the shirt up further and bent a little closer to the mirror, trying to remember if he’d bumped anything. As he gazed at the inexplicable discoloration a small movement caught his eye, and Sam caught a glimpse of Cas’s reflection in the mirror. The former angel was staring at him, pupils dilated, mouth slightly open, hectic color on his cheeks. The movement that had attracted Sam’s attention was Cas covertly pulling a pillow over his lap.

Sam continued to poke at the bruise, frowning at himself in the mirror, but surreptitiously watching Cas, who bit his lip and looked away, only to look back, and away again.

 _Like what you see, Cas_? Sam thought to himself, trying not to get his hopes up. Cas was new to being human and would probably be lusting after everything that moved, like a horny teenager, until he learned how to control his body’s baser instincts. He watched as Cas unconsciously licked his lips, causing Sam to hang on to the side of the dresser with a white-knuckled grip to stop himself from turning around. He would _not_ take advantage of his friend. He would absolutely…definitely… _almost_ certainly not!

* * *

Cas was feeling as relaxed and happy as he’d ever felt. Sam had taken him out for ice-cream and to paddle in the sea and to watch the sunset, until the former angel was almost at the point of sensory overload. And now Sam was sharing popcorn and his favorite movie with him, which seemed to be a ritual humans indulged in when they cared about someone. Cas was in figurative heaven. He’d had no idea that humans found so much pleasure in such simple things, but now that he knew they did he never wanted the experience to end.

Sometime during the day Cas had come to see Sam in a different light. Always before their friendship had been one forged in the fire of shared danger and tribulation. Sharing these small human experiences with Sam was different, instead of death and danger they shared laughter and fun, instead of swapping weapons and discussing tactics they compared favorite ice-creams and simply enjoyed each others company. Sam had taken so much joy in showing Cas his favorite things, and Cas in turn had gained joy in being showered with affection and care in a way he’d never before experienced.

Throughout the day he had found himself stealing glances at Sam when he wasn’t looking, taking in the features of his face, the smile lines beside his mouth, the color of his eyes, the small mannerisms that were as much a part of Sam as any physical attribute. It was fascinating in a way Cas couldn’t really explain.

Happily he shoved the popcorn in his mouth. It was so _good_ , all buttery and salty and crunchy. Cas was amazed at the way humans could take a simple thing like corn and make it into an explosion of flavors. He decided that the taste of food was becoming one of his favorite things about being human.

As the movie started he looked over at Sam to see if he was coming to watch it with him. His gaze fell on the hunter just as Sam was lifting his shirt to poke at a bruise on his ribs. Cas suddenly found his gaze riveted to the exposed flesh of Sam’s abdomen, the taut stomach and the hard lines of muscle that rippled underneath it, and the jut of a hipbone above the low-slung cotton pants Sam wore to bed. As Sam leaned closer to the mirror Cas’s gaze roamed lower and his breath hitched. He felt a rush of something he’d never experienced before, and felt his body stir in response.

Cas blushed furiously as his body made its arousal known in an almost painful way. He quickly grabbed a pillow and slung it across his lap, knowing that he should stop watching Sam but unable to tear his eyes away. He chastised himself; this was no way for an angel, even a former angel, to behave. Angels were supposed to be above the pleasures of the flesh; although he knew a few angels who wouldn’t agree with that statement, Balthazar and Gabriel being numbers one and two on that list.

Cas had never really understood why humans spent so much of their lives in search of partners to copulate with; it seemed to take a lot of time and energy that could be better spent on other endeavors. But, just like hunger, the former angel now understood that this was an urge that was hard to ignore.

He wanted… what did he want? Cas wasn’t sure, except that involved Sam not pulling his shirt down. Maybe taking his shirt off? And then coming over to take Cas’s shirt off? He thought back to the way Sam had gently touched his shoulder while re-dressing his wound earlier in the evening. The thought of Sam’s hands touching him again was suddenly more exciting than comforting.

Cas was shocked by that thought. Is that what he wanted from his friend? For him to come over and touch his body? He imagined it in his head, and the jolt of excitement that shot through him was intense. Yes, that was what he wanted. Was it what Sam wanted? He didn’t think so, Cas knew that humans had strange ideas and rituals surrounding the act of intercourse, and Sam hadn’t shown any indication of trying to court him.

Cas sighed. Maybe if he just asked him? No, that would be too embarrassing. He bit his lip and looked away, willing his body to cease and desist. He lamented losing the control he had had over his vessel when he had just been a visitor in this body. Despite his best efforts his eyes were drawn helplessly back. This time when he looked up he saw Sam watching him in the mirror, a dark look in his eyes, something almost predatory that caused Cas’s heart to beat erratically in his chest. He flushed red and looked back up at the movie, hoping that Sam had taken his discomfort for something else.

“Everything ok, Cas?” Sam asked, sounding concerned. Cas made an incoherent noise of assent, unable to do anything else. Sam chuckled, a low, knowing sound that went through Cas like a bolt of lightning. He looked back over and saw Sam slowly drawing his shirt back down, his fingers sliding along the sides of his body in a teasing fashion. Cas’s eyes helplessly followed the trail of those fingers. When Sam’s torso was fully covered again Cas almost whined. He looked up at Sam’s eyes, needing to see if there was anything approaching what Cas was feeling in them. But instead of seeing an answering arousal on the hunter’s face, he saw alarm. He followed Sam’s gaze to the window, where the headlights of a car shone into the room.

Sam moved quickly, and the part of Cas that would always be a warrior admired the efficiency and fluid grace with which the hunter grabbed his gun and moved silently across the room towards the door.

* * *

Sam sighed when he saw the Impala sitting in the parking lot. He was disappointed, but not surprised, that Dean had tracked them down so quickly. As the door opened he saw his brother, and then he saw _Crowley_ , shackled with the demon manacles, looking unbearably smug.

“What is _he_ doing here?” he hissed, stepping protectively between the demon and Cas. Crowley grinned.

 “I’m not here for precious Castiel, Moose,” the demon said, taking in Cas’s wide-eyed state with a raised eyebrow. “There’s no challenge in taking a Grace-less angel apart. We’ll save that for another time, Thursday,” he winked over at the angel and Sam and Dean both bristled instinctively. Cas stared at the demon impassively, unmoved by the threat.

Crowley grinned even wider. “Squirrel asked me to track you down, in exchange for taking me for a little walk. It was getting very stuffy in your sex dungeon.”

The attention in the room shifted to Dean, who shrugged. “I did what I had to, since you’d disappeared off the face of the planet.”

Sam put the gun down carefully on a side table and turned to face his brother fully.

“We wouldn’t have had to disappear if you hadn’t kicked _our friend_ out of the only safe place for him, to freeze and starve!” Sam growled, fists clenching and unclenching. “He could have died, Dean. _Cas could have died!_ ”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose into his hairline at this, and he turned to regard Dean with surprised amusement.

“You kicked the tree topper out of your little club house?” he asked with a sly smile. “You little protégé you.”

“Shut up, Crowley!” both Winchesters snapped. The King of Hell took a step back, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“There are things you don’t understand!” Dean shouted, fists clenched at his sides. “Do you think I did it for fun? Look at him, Sam!” he gestured at a surprised Cas. “Don’t you think I want to take him back to the bunker and feed him burgers and teach him how to tie his shoelaces? But if we did, every fallen angel in creation would be at our doorstep, knocking down the doors to get at us. And then who would be around to take care of that son of a bitch Metatron?”

“You think I care?” Sam yelled back, outraged. “You think I give a shit about the world outside of you and Cas? _The world can burn for all I care!_ ”

Cas met Crowley’s eyes and they exchanged the resigned look of two supernatural beings who had been dealing with the Winchesters for a long time. They both knew it was only a matter of time before one of the brothers said something they were really going to regret. Crowley seemed vaguely amused by the prospect, Cas was tense. And on cue, Dean opened his mouth one time too many.

“Just because you’re in love with Cas doesn’t give you the right…” Dean stopped as Sam stumbled backwards, his mouth open in shock, fists clenched by his sides.

After a moment of shocked silence the King of Hell was the first to speak.

“Squirrel…” Crowley said with a smirk, “I couldn’t have timed that better myself, and I pride myself on being the King of masterful timing.”

The three other men in the room stood stock still, shock still etched on their faces. Crowley didn’t say anything further, clearly content to just sit back and enjoy the fallout.

Sam closed his eyes, determinedly not looking at Cas.

“Sam…” Dean said tentatively, a hand outstretched in entreaty.

Sam was caught. He wanted nothing more than to flee the scene, but he knew that would cement his guilt firmly in the minds of everyone in the room. But he also knew his involuntary reaction to Dean’s words had condemned him as surely as any other action he could take now. He opened his eyes and looked up to Heaven.

“We’ve been chased from one side of the country to the other by angels,” he said, trying for, and failing to achieve, a casual tone, “but when you _really_ need one of them to appear and try to smite you the bastards are nowhere to be found.”

“Sam…” Cas said, finally. But Cas trying to placate him was the last straw for Sam.

“Cas, if you spout some empty platitude or, hell, say the word ‘ _brother_ ’ in a sentence to do with you and me, so help me, I will call the angels here myself and get the smiting started.”

Cas closed his mouth with a snap and Sam nodded grimly to himself. All thought of pretending not to be humiliated beyond endurance fled and he made for the doorway, pushing past his brother and the demon.

 “Where are you going, Sam?” Dean called after him. “It’s not safe.”

“No,” Sam ground out, “here, it isn’t safe. Out there it’s just life-threatening.” With that parting shot he did leave, slamming the door vigorously on his way out.

* * *

 “Well, fuck,” Dean said with a groan, running a hand through his hair. He turned to see the former angel staring at him accusingly. He sighed, and sat heavily on the end of the bed.

“You really didn’t know, Cas?” he asked, his head in his hands.

“No,” Cas gritted out. “I didn’t. Before a few weeks ago I didn’t even know what hunger felt like, or thirst. Human emotions are much harder to work out than bodily functions.”

“Ugh,” Crowley rolled his eyes, “humans. Always with the _feelings._ Castiel, pet, you really are a complete ignoramus. The sasquatch has been undressing you with his eyes since the day he met you. It’s sickening really.”

The look that Cas and Dean leveled at the demon could only be described as venomous. Crowley shrugged, then jangled his chains.

“I could help you, but I’m all tied up right now.”

Dean turned to Cas, pointedly ignoring the demon. “You need to stay here and watch Crowley; I’m going to go after him.”

 “I’m coming too,” Cas practically growled. “I don’t know why you don’t want me near Sam, and frankly, I don’t care. He might be your brother, but he’s my friend. He saved my life!”

Crowley perked up, interested. “Who said Winchester One doesn’t want you near his brother? Isn’t it the club house and its cargo of Prophet that you’re banned from?”

Cas looked at Crowley, who winked at him. The former angel wished he wouldn’t do that, it implied complicity and he’d had enough of collaborating with the demon to last him an eternity.

Dean looked uncomfortable. “I’m protecting Sam _and_ saving the world. I’m good at multi-tasking.”

“Right you are,” Crowley said with a bland smile. “My mistake.”

Cas wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he had the feeling he was missing something important.

* * *

Crowley smirked when Dean finally left to find his brother, leaving him alone with the deliciously fragile ex-angel. It was painfully obvious that the elder Winchester was hiding something, something to do with his gigantor brother. It was just as clear that Cas had no idea what that something was; but that wouldn’t stop Crowley from planting the seeds of doubt in that pretty little head, looking for any crack between the ex-angel and the brothers that he could exploit. The King of Hell was more than prepared to play the long game, after all, until he found a way out of the Winchester’s wretched demon manacles he had nothing better to do with his time.

He’d said he wouldn’t harm Castiel physically, but he hadn’t said anything about toying with his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating will go up next chapter. Waaaaaay up!


	3. Wild Geese That Fly With the Moon on Their Wings

Crowley looked sidelong at the dejected former angel. Cas looked so forlorn, so lost and helpless. It made Crowley think fondly of the thousands of souls who'd succumbed to temptation when he'd been a mere crossroads demon.

The King of Hell smirked. He would never have a better chance, and it was worth a shot.

“Cas, my old business partner, I hate to see you like this. You know, I could help you, if…”

“No.”

Crowley pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Cas glared. “I might be human, but with those chains on I could kill you as easily as if I were still an angel.”

“Cas, darling, Pride is a sin, or hadn’t you heard?”

Cas didn’t answer. Crowley took in the sight of his one-time partner in crime. The angel might have lost his Grace, but there was still something insufferably noble about him that Crowley wanted to destroy. He wanted so badly to get his hands on that pretty body, to break the angel down piece by piece, and build him back up again in a new image. To utterly wreck and ruin him; to hear that sandpaper voice scream under his hands.

Cas turned to him with a knowing look, and Crowley huffed a sigh. As much as they hated to admit it, the demon and the angel knew each other far better than any human ever could, even humans who yo-yoed back from death as often as the Winchesters. Cas might be a human himself now, but he would always know what it had been like to stare down the barrel of eternity; and they both knew that there wasn’t as much difference between Heaven and Hell as they all liked to pretend.

“Going to kill me while the humans are out, duckie?” Crowley asked slyly, knowing the answer.

“Not today,” Cas replied, as the demon had known he would.

“What’s it like, being human for the first time?” he asked curiously.

Cas sighed, looking down at the carpet. “Confusing,” he muttered, and Crowley heard all the layers of anguish in that word. After all, it was what he dealt in. He was a connoisseur of agony. He shivered pleasurably, and got that too-knowing look again from the former angel.

“If I didn’t have these shackles on…” Crowley almost hissed, his eyes tinting red.

“I know,” Cas said simply.

They lapsed into silence again, and Crowley contemplated Dean’s revelation about Sam. Cas had been shocked yes, but there had been something else there. Hope? Longing maybe? This human Castiel was an open book, but it was hard to read an emotion if the other person wasn’t aware of having it. Crowley decided to test a little theory.

“Do you know why I didn’t tell you about Moose’s feelings for you earlier? Why I kept such a valuable tidbit of information to myself?”

Cas turned to face Crowley fully for the first time, warning in his eyes. Crowley met those blue eyes levelly. Neither angel nor demon looked away.

“Because he suffered, Castiel,” the demon said, softly. “Revealing his weakness would have ruined the fun. Watching him pine after you, while you followed his brother around like a lost puppy dog, was as intoxicating as the first sip of whiskey after a long day.”

The look that Castiel turned on him was deadly in its intensity, and Crowley knew without a shred of doubt that if Cas had still been an angel he would have vaporized him. As it was, Crowley could see the ex-angel's hand twitch in an aborted gesture towards him.

The demon wasn’t entirely sure that the former angel wouldn’t have just stuck him with an angel blade, consequences be damned, if the phone hadn’t rung at that moment.

Crowley smiled inwardly. That had been enlightening.

He tilted his head to the side, listening.

“ _Cas?_ ” came Dean’s anxious voice over the phone. “ _I can’t find Sam, I’ve checked every bar… do you know where he might be?_ ”

Crowley watched Cas’s expression as he thought about his answer. He really would have to teach the ex-angel how to hide his human thoughts; it wouldn't do for anyone to take advantage of Castiel except him. That thought shocked Crowley more than a little. Since when did he care how the angel met his inevitable bloody end? That whole unfortunate ‘human blood’ thing had obviously had more of a lingering effect on him than he’d realized.

 “Yes Dean,” Cas replied, jolting Crowley out of that unwelcome line of thought. “I know where he is.”

* * *

Dean walked up the steps to the cliff top, the moonlight clearly illuminating his brother passed out on the park bench, his long, lanky legs dangling over the end of the chair, an empty bottle of something clasped to his chest. His heart cramped painfully, he’d always vowed to protect his little brother, and now he’d failed at that spectacularly. _Again._ He took a deep breath, whatever Sam had to say to him now, he deserved it. Stiffening his spine he took the last few steps and looked down into the face of his brother, a face he knew better than he knew his own. But it wasn’t his brother looking back at him, it was Ezekiel.

“About time you showed up,” Dean said wearily. The angel looked up at him with the same impassive confusion Cas had so often shown in the early days of their friendship. Dean felt an irrational spike of anger at the internal comparison, and hardened his tone. “Why did you let Sam leave the bunker?”

“You don’t think your brother would have been suspicious if he got a call from Castiel, then woke up days later not having rescued him?” the angel inquired, sitting up to allow Dean room to sit down.

Dean sat with a sigh. “All right. Good point. But once you’d found Cas, why didn’t you do something then? Call me, for instance?”

It was Ezekiel’s turn to sigh. “Castiel might be a human now, but he’d have noticed the second I took control of Sam. We always know when one of us is nearby. Sam didn’t let him out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time. Not long enough for me to contact you.”

Dean unconsciously curled his hands into fists. “We should tell Cas,” he said. “He could help us; once he knew why he had to leave Sam alone he’d go willingly, and Sam wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

Ezekiel sighed again. Dean was getting really sick of the angel patronizing him, but he managed to hold his tongue. Just.

“Dean, Castiel would not keep my existence secret from Sam, that is not his way. And if you could see inside your brother’s mind, you would realize that Sam will never let Castiel leave again, voluntarily or not.”

“I don’t need to look in his mind to know that,” Dean said, making a conscious effort to keep his voice level. “Well, what do we do? How far along is Sam’s healing? His hair is still falling out, and I could see how badly his hands were shaking when I caught up to you.”

Ezekiel looked out over the moonlit ocean, and Dean could practically feel the bad news coming.

“Your brother is not healing as fast as I would like, he is fighting me subconsciously every step of the way. The situation is untenable, the angels _will_ find Castiel, wherever he may hide. It’s only a matter of time. And when they do, they will also find me, and I cannot allow that.”

Dean breathed out slowly. “So, what? Are you just going to let my brother die?”

Ezekiel’s silence was answer enough.

Dean’s mind raced. “Look, Zeke. You’re injured too, remember? Leaving Sam’s body might hurt you just as much as him. And the angels haven’t found you yet. Sam knows how to keep himself hidden; I’d never have found him without Crowley. The angels aren’t going to have their own King of Hell just lying around. If Sam keeps you moving, which is what he was doing before I showed up, you should be safe for a while longer. Give him a month, just one month, and if you still feel like it’s too dangerous, we’ll renegotiate.”

Dean couldn’t read his brother’s face; it was too alien to him with the angel looking out of those suddenly unfamiliar eyes. He held his breath. If Zeke had made up his mind to leave Sam there was nothing he could do to stop him.

But if he did, Dean vowed to himself that he would hunt Ezekiel down and carve his rage into the angel. Slowly.

Ezekiel must have sensed the implied threat because he looked sidelong at the hunter, before leaning slightly away from him.

“One week,” Ezekiel said at last. Dean made to protest but the angel held up his hand to stop him.

“One week, and even that goes against my better judgement. And you’ll have to leave, and take Crowley with you. Having the two of you around is like screaming our location over ‘angel radio,’ as you insist on calling it.”

Leaving Sam to fend for himself went against all of Dean’s protective instincts, but he could see the sense in Zeke’s argument.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” he growled. “It’s a deal. In a week I’ll call Sam back to the bunker, and we’ll talk. If anything happens before then you call me immediately; I don’t care if it exposes you to Cas. I’ll deal with that if it happens. And you do _not_ leave my brother before the week is up. If you do, so help me, the things I did in Hell will look tame compared to what I’ll do to you.”

The angel turned the full weight of his attention on Dean at those words, but the hunter was not intimidated. He held Ezekiel’s gaze, and the angel was the first one to drop his eyes.

“Right, get in the car,” Dean said, standing up. “We’ve got to get back before Cas kills Crowley.”

“A surprisingly perceptive observation,” Ezekiel said, following the hunter gingerly down the hill. Dean noted the empty bottle of whiskey the angel held and winced internally in sympathy; his brother was going to feel that in the morning.

“Yeah, well. Crowley is in chains, and Cas is a trained killer battling a mess of human emotions he doesn’t know how to control. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that things are probably not going well.”

* * *

When Dean walked back into the motel room it was to find Cas and Crowley locked in some kind of staring match, like a weird supernatural dominance struggle. Dean leaned over and clicked his fingers in front of his friend’s face. Cas didn’t even blink, glowering at Crowley with undiminished intensity. Dean briefly wondered how long they would have death stared each other if Cas had still been an angel. Did time really matter to two eternal beings? His head hurt just thinking about it.

“Cas," he said abruptly, shaking his friend's shoulder, "I need help getting Sam inside, he’s passed out in the back of the car, and way too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

Cas looked up at the sound of Sam’s name, the demon momentarily forgotten.

“Is he all right?” Cas asked, getting up quickly. Dean ignored Crowley’s dramatic eye-roll.

“He’s fine,” Dean lied. Cas looked at him a moment too long, and Dean knew he didn’t believe a word of it.

When they got to the car Cas opened the door to the backseat, where Ezekiel had lain down, relinquishing control back to a passed-out Sam so as not to arouse suspicion. The former angel stared down at the unconscious hunter, eventually reaching out to smooth Sam’s hair gently away from his face.

Dean narrowed his eyes. Cas would have no idea what such a simple gesture usually meant, he wasn’t human savvy enough yet. Cas’s innocent action revealed a stronger bond between his brother and the angel than Dean had thought existed; something had changed between them. And wasn’t that interesting?

If Cas found out Ezekiel was possessing his brother, well, Dean suspected the fallen angel would have more trouble leaving Sam to die than he had anticipated.

* * *

Cas looked down at the still form of his friend, who had drunk so much alcohol it was a wonder he was still breathing, and tried to sift through his jumble of emotions. He had helped Dean carry Sam into the motel room, and it was now clear that Dean was waiting to tell him something. Cas wasn’t sure he could deal with any more surprises, arguments or bad news that night, so he stared down at the still form of his friend instead, deliberately not looking at either Dean or Crowley.

Dean shuffled about for a minute, then sighed.

“Cas… I have to take Crowley back to the bunker. You should stay here with Sam; once he recovers he’ll keep you safe by moving you around until the heat from the search wears off.”

Cas spun around to stare at Dean, and noticed Crowley was also staring at the elder Winchester with an open mouth, which he abruptly closed with a snap.

The chains jangled as Crowley rubbed at his eyes like he had a headache.

“Let me get this straight,” he said wearily, “after dragging me out of your sex dungeon, hauling me halfway across the country, forcing me to endure your terrible taste in music and even worst taste in food, all to find your brother… you’re now just going to up and leave him with the supernatural world’s most wanted?”

Cas was just as gob smacked. He had never known Dean to leave Sam’s side when there was even the slightest hint of danger. The demon turned to stare meaningfully at Cas, and the former angel met his eyes reluctantly. Before Dean had returned Crowley had been trying to convince him that the hunter was hiding something important, something that could put all their lives at risk. Cas had put it down to classic Crowley manipulation, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Dean glared at both of them. “Crowley has to go back to his hole before he gets too used to all this fresh air. Sam has refused to come back, and I can’t make him. He’s promised to look after Cas and that’s all there is to it!”

Cas shook his head sadly. Even with his limited knowledge of humans he could tell his friend was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. But Dean was right about one thing, if Sam had refused to leave there was nothing his brother would be able to do to convince him. The youngest Winchester had a stubborn streak as wide as he was tall.

Sam's refusal to abandon him gave Cas a warm feeling inside; he had thought Dean would whisk his brother away and he would be left to fend for himself again. That thought sent a cold shiver down Cas’s spine, he was not ready to be out on the streets again, and he certainly didn’t want to be parted from Sam. The ‘boy with the demon blood’ had shown Cas more kindness and compassion in the last day or so than he had known in all his long life previously. But it worried him that Dean had so readily capitulated to Sam’s wishes. Crowley was right, something else was definitely going on, but the former angel was too exhausted and emotionally strung out to even begin to wonder what it could be.

* * *

Sam woke up with no idea where he was, in fact, he almost had no idea _who_ he was. His head felt like it was being beaten into a bloody pulp by a horde of angry demons, and his stomach was roiling ominously. After a second of lying there, just absorbing the full extent of his agony, he allowed his mind to start searching out the reason for his predicament.

Immediately he wished he hadn’t. The memory of the argument that had driven him from the room and out to the cliff top roared back with unforgiving force, and he barely managed to contain a whimper of horror.

And now he was apparently back in the motel room, with absolutely no idea of how he’d gotten there. That was even worse. Had Dean come to get him, or had he driven himself back drunk and compounded his problems further by confronting his brother, or worse, Cas?

Sam tried to remember, but everything after lying down on the bench was a complete blank. He listened intently for the sound of voices, or any other indication of who else might be in the room, and what kind of mood they might be in.

He heard a soft shuffling sound, but didn’t quite manage to close his eyes before Cas’s worried face appeared in his field of vision. He cursed internally, now the ex-angel knew he was awake he wouldn’t be able to just lie there and wallow in his misery. He hoped Cas wasn’t too upset by the previous evening’s events, and hoped even harder that his friend didn’t realize what a huge thing an admission of love was to a human.

The hunter knew that was a vain hope. He decided to take the initiative and hope for the best.

“Cas…” he croaked out, licking his chapped lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper. “Cas, I’m sorry. Whatever I did, whatever I said while I was drunk, I’m sorry.”

Cas looked confused. “You didn’t say anything, Sam. You were unconscious when Dean brought you back.”

Sam closed his eyes in relief, and sent up an internal prayer of thanks to a God he was no longer sure he believed in. He’d never been so grateful that he couldn’t hold his liquor.

“In that case,” he mumbled, “let this be another lesson on being human, Cas. Don’t try to solve your problems with alcohol; the next morning isn’t worth it.”

Cas’s expression didn’t change, and Sam wondered if it was the revelation of his feelings for the angel, or something else, that was bothering his friend.

“Hit me with it, Cas,” he sighed.

“Hit you with what?” Cas asked, looking more lost and confused by the second.

“The bad news, whatever it is,” Sam clarified, aware that with only his eyes showing above the covers the ex-angel would have a hard time reading his reactions. A perfect time to find out whatever new horrors awaited him.

Cas frowned. “How did you guess I had bad news? No, never mind. I do have news. Dean has left with Crowley, he said we should stay together, and keep moving to lose whoever might be on our trail. He said you refused to leave.”

“Sounds like me,” the hunter said, before the implications of that sentence sunk in.

“Wait, you mean Dean _left?_ ” Sam was taken completely aback, that was so out of character for his brother that he had trouble processing the information. With a sinking feeling he realized he must have said some pretty terrible things to Dean when his brother had come to scrape his sorry backside off the park bench.

Sam closed his eyes in shame; he couldn’t even begin to imagine what Dean must think of him. Yes, he was still angry at his brother, outraged even, but what had he said that had made Dean leave him like that? It must have been truly monstrous.

Sam realized then that he’d often taken Dean’s protectiveness for granted, along with the feeling of safety that protectiveness engendered. He suddenly felt very alone, Dean was angry, and things between him and Cas had changed irrevocably. How had his whole world managed to come crashing down in just one evening?

He opened his eyes. Cas was staring at him, worry lines appearing on his forehead. Sam longed to reach out and stroke them away, but he ruthlessly reined that thought in. Now that Cas was aware of his feelings he knew he’d have to work overtime to stop those sorts of thoughts from showing on his face.

Sam closed his eyes again, too sick at heart to reassure Cas that everything was going to be ok.

* * *

After delivering his news Cas sat on the edge of his bed and tried not to feel guilty and helpless. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all his fault, that if he’d just stayed away like Dean had asked him to, if he hadn’t called Sam that day from the payphone, none of this would have happened. Sam and Dean would be saving the world together, the way it was meant to be, and his friend wouldn’t be lying in bed in the middle of the day, too sick in body and soul to move.

Cas twisted his fingers together. He desperately wanted to go over to Sam and give him a hug, to soothe his hurts the way Sam had done for him when he’d rescued him from the diner. He could hardly even begin to grasp the implications of Dean’s revelation; he knew enough to know that he should be shocked, or embarrassed. He was neither of those things, he’d been surprised, yes, but also elated, happy to be so highly regarded by this human who had proven his worth again and again. Cas felt a strange tingly warmth suffuse his body just thinking about it.

The former angel sat in that position until the sun started to sink low in the sky, staring at the small amount of Sam he could see above the covers and thinking...feeling… wondering… until he too finally succumbed to exhaustion.

* * *

Cas knew he was dreaming, even though it was something he'd never experienced as an angel. He understood now why humans tried to assign so much meaning to something purely biological. The thoughts that swirled up from his subconscious were powerful, as powerful as anything he’d experienced while awake. And certainly this particular dream was enlightening.

Cas was enfolded in Dream Sam’s arms, suffused by a feeling of profound peace and happiness. He sighed contentedly, feeling the solid warmth of Sam's arms around him, and the strong muscles of the hunter's back under his hands. After a little while he felt Sam move his hand slowly down to the small of his back, gently pushing their hips together. Cas felt his body stir the way it had when he'd watched Sam in the mirror, and he leaned backwards, looking up inquiringly into the hunter’s face. As he did so Sam smiled gently, reaching out a hand to tenderly cup Cas's cheek, before slowly leaning down to kiss him.

Cas awoke with a start, the hunter’s name on his lips.

* * *

The little breathy noises that Cas was making in his sleep had Sam gritting his teeth with determination; they were the exact sounds the hunter had fantasized about the angel making under his touch. He felt himself getting hard and scrubbed at his face in frustration. It was torture. There were only a few steps between his bed and Cas’s, but it may as well have been an infinite chasm. Especially since he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get up and talk to his friend since their conversation that morning, too afraid of what he’d see in the ex-angel’s face.

Just then Cas sighed a name. Sam froze. It couldn’t have been… could it? Cas moaned again, and this time the name was as clear as if it had been written in the air. _Sam!_

Sam held his breath. He shifted uncomfortably; he was rock hard, and completely confused. What was he going to do now? A dream didn’t mean anything, but the way Cas had said his name, it hadn’t just been lust in his voice. Should he wake his friend up? No, he was in no fit state to do anything except lie there until his body stopped reacting.

Reminded immediately of his predicament, his hand, almost of its own volition, slipped under the covers and down to the hard bulge in his pajamas. As his fingers brushed his aching cock he almost moaned. Sam bit his lip as hard as he could, trying not to make any noise. It felt incredibly wrong to be jerking off to his friend having a sexy dream in the next bed, but the hunter was so turned on he was beyond caring. He slowly turned his head to the side to make sure Cas was still asleep; and looked straight into two piercing blue eyes, illuminated by the light from the streetlamps that poured through the window.

Sam froze like a rabbit caught in headlights, hoping beyond reasonable hope that Cas hadn’t realized what he’d been doing. The blue eyes briefly stopped pinning him to the spot long enough to glance down at the middle of the bed, where Sam was covered only by a sheet. The hunter felt himself start to sweat as Cas’s eyes lingered on the one place Sam didn’t want them to, before traveling slowly back up Sam’s body, coming to rest on his eyes again. Slowly, deliberately, not taking his eyes from Sam’s for even a second, the ex-angel slid his own hand under his covers. Sam saw Cas’s eyes change the moment his hand touched his own erection, and the hunter was across the room before he even had time to think.

Cas shifted to the side, a silent invitation, and Sam lay down beside him, so they were nose-to-nose. Not a single word had been said, so it came almost as a shock when Cas breathed his name.

Sam slowly reached out a hand and placed it gently on Cas’s waist, rucking up his shirt so he was touching the ex-angel’s skin. Cas let out a blissful sigh, and Sam couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He marveled at the feeling of Cas’s smooth skin under his hand; he splayed his fingers out experimentally, and slipped a couple of those fingers underneath the loose cotton pants the ex-angel was wearing. Cas unconsciously shifted his hips towards the hunter, and Sam grinned. He started to slide his hand towards the obvious bulge in Cas’s pants, but stopped.

“Ok, angel?” he asked. Cas nodded, a small whimper of need escaping his lips. Sam bit his own lip, determined to go slowly, even if it killed him.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked gently. Cas shook his head, and Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Even to yourself?” he pressed, curious now.

“No,” Cas said, uncomfortably. “I wanted… but I wasn’t sure… I didn’t know… it’s all so new…”

“Shh,” Sam said gently. “It’s ok. I’ve got you.” With that, he leaned forward and finally kissed his angel, a soft, gentle, close-mouthed kiss that was somehow more erotic than any of the more passionate kisses Sam had indulged in with other partners. He gently pushed Cas’s shoulder until he was lying on his back with Sam partially on top of him. He felt Cas tentatively reach towards him, and shuddered as the former angel’s hands came to rest gently on his waist. Sam continued to kiss Cas, all thought of anything else flying out of his head for the moment. Using all of his skills the hunter gradually deepened the kiss, gently nudging Cas’s lips until he opened his mouth for him, feeling the former angel melt under his hands.

Sam kissed Cas with all the passion and love he’d felt since the day he’d first met the angel; the same day that Cas had first broken his heart, when he’d hesitated to shake the hand of the boy with the demon blood. Cas moaned suddenly and Sam pulled back, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, the sudden thought that he might be corrupting something beautiful and pure sending a shiver of horror skittering down his spine.

Cas looked up at him with blazing eyes, the blue that Sam had fallen so hard for shining as bright as the sun. He knew Cas had felt the hesitation, and the reason for it. The sharp anger in the former angel’s eyes was testament to that. Cas grabbed Sam fiercely by the back of the neck, and pulled him back into the kiss with so much strength that Sam forgot for a moment that Cas had lost his mojo. The ex-angel’s response left Sam in no doubt that he wanted this as desperately as Sam did. Whether that meant Cas felt something for him, or just wanted him to scratch a very human itch, was something Sam decided to work out later. Right now, his body was doing all the thinking for him.

As he held Sam’s mouth to his own, Cas grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it firmly back where it had been on his waist. Sam grinned against the ex-angel’s mouth, he knew what Cas wanted and he was happy to comply. He paused only long enough to spit in his hand before finally reaching under Cas’s pants, taking the former angel in hand.

* * *

Cas had never felt such an overload of sensation in all his long, long, millennia. Wherever Sam touched him it felt like fire and lightning, and the feeling of Sam’s lips and tongue were making him practically writhe with lust. When Sam finally, _finally_ touched him where he most needed to be touched, Cas felt his eyes roll back in his head with bliss. He had never dreamed, never even _imagined_ that feelings like this existed. He clutched at the hunter, trying to grab him closer, fisting his hands in his shirt, his hair, seeking his mouth with his own. Sam held back, watching the former angel with an intense expression. Eventually Cas ceased his frantic movements and looked up into the hunter’s eyes, a sensation he couldn’t describe pooling low in his belly. He wanted, he needed…

“ _Sam!_ ” he whined desperately.

“That’s it, Cas,” Sam whispered. “Let go now. Let me see you… I want to see you…” Sam was breathless now too, despite Cas not having touched him.

“Come for me, baby,” the hunter panted, “Castiel… Angel… _come for me!_ ”

With a last, practiced movement of Sam’s hand Cas bucked his hips and felt an ecstasy that was almost painful in its intensity sweep over him. He moaned and threw his head back on the bed, letting the feeling rush through him. After what seemed like an instant, or an eternity, he flopped backwards on the sheets, boneless, shaken to his very core.

‘Fuck, Cas,” he heard Sam mutter. “That was so fucking hot… you’re so beautiful… oh fuck, _Cas!_ ”

Cas looked up into Sam’s eyes just in time to see the hunter come apart as Cas had done moments earlier. As Sam came, he breathed Cas’s name, but the angel didn’t hear it; in that moment of vulnerability Cas had seen something that was not Sam behind the hunter’s eyes. He was out of the bed in an instant, grabbing his angel blade, rocking up on the balls of his feet, every inch the warrior he’d been made to be. He was briefly aware of the bizarre sight he must make, hair and clothes askew, flushed and breathing heavily, messy and sticky, but he didn’t care. Someone, _something_ , was in his Sam!

“ _Who are you?_ ” he hissed, holding the angel blade menacingly. Sam looked at him with confusion, hurt, and no small amount of fear in his eyes. Cas’s heart broke to see Sam look at him like that, but whoever was in the hunter had to know he meant business. A few Enochian curses tumbled from his lips; human languages just didn’t have the venom and vitriol needed for this moment.

As quickly as blinking Sam was gone, and in his place was an angel Cas didn’t recognize. The angel looked at Cas, then down at Sam’s body. In an instant all trace of the activity Sam and Cas had been engaged in had vanished.

“Hello, Castiel,” the angel said, finally. “We haven’t met before. My name is Gadreel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments so far! It makes me so happy! Lots more Sam and Cas feels next chapter, and things are going to get pretty hectic for everyone!


	4. Silver White Winters That Melt Into Springs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: More canon divergence. Canonical minor character death.  
> There are gaps in the story here, in these gaps the canon storyline is in place. Because of these gaps this ended up being a shorter chapter, the next chapter will be longer, promise!

Cas felt his eyes, which had widened like saucers when Gadreel had identified himself, get even wider over the next few minutes. The tiny, miniscule part of his mind not completely overcome by shock at Gadreel’s graphic tale of woe realized what a picture of baffled outrage he must make; his mouth had dropped open ten minutes previously and had stayed that way, his angel blade hung from limp fingers, and he knew his face must be completely devoid of color. To Gadreel, who hadn’t seen humanity since that fateful day in the Garden, Cas would appear to be just another bewildered monkey. However, there was nothing Cas could do to hide his shock, any more than he could have hidden his desire for Sam, who, it turned out, had been a vessel for Gadreel _this whole time!_

It explained so much, Dean’s insistence that Cas leave (and Cas found he was selfishly relieved that his friend had a good reason for wanting him gone), Dean’s strange behavior, the mysterious bruises that Sam had worried about.

It explained so much, and yet Cas couldn’t take it in. Seeing Sam’s body animated by someone who _wasn’t_ Sam was as disturbing a thing as Cas had ever witnessed. He felt a sudden pang of guilt, was this what Claire Novak had gone through when he had ‘borrowed’ her father’s meat suit? He pushed that uncomfortable thought aside before it had time to properly manifest, as he had done with so much of the other guilt he carried around.

Quite aside from the shock, the horror, and the pangs of old guilt, was a new, fresh, and immediate guilt overriding all the others. Sam had been dying and Cas _hadn’t even noticed!_ Just like so many other times in their shared history, Cas had been so caught up in his own personal woes that he’d let a Winchester down, badly.

He had to make it up to Sam. It was this thought that finally roused Cas from his stupor. He licked his lips and reached deep, pushing the shock aside long enough to form a coherent sentence.

“Let me speak to Sam.”

Gadreel narrowed his eyes. “You can’t tell him, Castiel. He will cast me out, and then he will die.”

Cas ground his teeth in frustration. This was a mess. Sam deserved to know, but Cas knew as well as Dean did that as soon as Sam discovered the truth he would expel Gadreel with extreme prejudice. Sam would not tolerate possession of any kind, even to save his life. But Cas couldn’t keep the information from him the way Dean had, he had no right to stop Sam from choosing for himself, and besides, threatening Sam’s life had probably already given the game away.

Cas cursed his predicament, if he had still been an angel he could have cured Sam in an instant. It brought home to the ex-angel just how badly injured Gadreel must have been in the fall to be unable to perform a simple healing. Either that or Sam’s injuries were beyond angelic power to heal. Cas shuddered, he didn’t want to believe that, but he had to know.

“What is Sam’s condition?” he asked, unsteadily.

Gadreel considered. “Better than it was. His organs were burned beyond recognition when I first entered him. However, they are still not strong enough to support his life, his lungs were especially damaged, and he would not be able to breathe without my help.”

Cas searched Gadreel’s face for signs of deception and found none. He let out a shuddering breath; injuries that severe would require considerable power to heal.

“Let me speak to Sam,” he demanded again, only this time with his angel blade pointed over the hunter’s heart.

Gadreel looked down, then back up at Cas with a mocking expression.

“Killing me would kill Sam, and you would never do that.”

“You think I am so far removed from Heaven, so corrupted by humanity, that I cannot do what needs to be done?” Cas willed his hands not to tremble, willed his voice not to break. “Even in Heaven’s jail, you have heard my name. You know what I am capable of. I have slaughtered _thousands_. What is one more?”

Gadreel looked into his eyes, considering. Whatever he saw there seemed to convince him of Castiel's sincerity, and he nodded. Cas sank to his knees, staring back at those eyes until he saw Sam in them again.

* * *

Sam had that weird time-loss feeling, a millisecond ago Cas had been threatening him with an angel blade, a wild, wrathful look in his eyes that had chilled him to the bone. The next the ex-angel was kneeling on the ground in front of him, with no time seeming to pass in between. The hunter drew back instinctively, and saw a brief flicker of guilt and hurt flash across Cas's face.

He eyed the ex-angel warily. He wanted to check on his friend _– lover? -_ but Cas was still holding a weapon, and he wasn’t suicidal.

“Cas?” he asked hesitantly. “What happened? Why did you…” he swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

Cas hung his head. Sam waited grimly for the former angel to gather his thoughts.

“I won’t lie to you Sam, but I need you to promise me something.”

Sam thought about that. With anyone else he would have been more wary, would have held back a promise until he had more of an idea what was going on. But this was _Cas_ , and Sam was sure he had a good reason for his actions. At least, he better have.

“Anything,” he said, his voice shaking only slightly.

Cas let out a shuddering sigh of relief, pinning Sam to the spot with the intensity of his gaze. “Promise me you will hear me out, and that you will _not_ do anything until you’ve discussed it properly with me. No rash actions, no self-sacrificing, no Winchester bravado.”

Sam was rightfully alarmed by this laundry list of demands. “Cas…” he said, hesitantly.

“Sam… _promise me!_ ” Cas hissed, his hands gripping Sam’s knees so tightly he thought they would leave bruises. The ex-angel’s blue eyes stared up in the Sam’s own, filled with a desperation that tore at Sam’s heart. He reached out a hand and touched Cas’s cheek gently. The former angel leaned slightly into the touch, and Sam relaxed a little.

“Ok, Cas. I promise. But you have to do something for me in return.”

“Anything,” Cas said solemnly, trustingly.

“Put the angel blade down, would you?”

Cas looked down in surprise, to see the blade still grasped in the hand that was resting on Sam’s left knee. He let out a shaky laugh and tossed it onto the bed. Out of his hand, but not, Sam noted, out of arm’s reach.

Cas stared at the floor for a long time, and Sam knew whatever was coming next would be devastating. After the last few days, he just wanted to know the worst and be done with it.

“C’mon Cas…” he coaxed, running a thumb along Cas’s cheekbone in a tender gesture, meant to reassure. The ex-angel still didn’t look up; the unconscious flexing of his hands and the shallowness of his breathing were the only indications that he was listening.

“Castiel, look at me,” Sam demanded gently. He reached out and tilted Cas’s head up so he was looking directly into the ex-angel’s eyes.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

Cas drew in a breath, nodded sharply, and began to speak.

* * *

Cas looked into Sam’s face, which hadn’t changed since he’d begun his explanation, except for a tightening around the eyes and jaw that Cas wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t spent the last couple of days staring into those features, learning their secrets. He held his breath, waiting for Sam to say something, anything. Instead Sam just continued to stare at him, unblinking, until Cas opened his mouth to say something further. Then the hunter held up his hand, and the former angel closed his mouth with a snap.

“I would rather die, Cas,” he said simply. Cas felt his stomach drop and his mouth go dry. A moan of despair tried to claw its way out of his throat, but he held onto his calm, breathing deeply in, and out.

“You promised we’d discuss it,” he said, as reasonably as he could manage.

“We are discussing it, Cas,” Sam pointed out. “I won’t be used by anyone, angel, demon, or otherwise. I would rather die. End of discussion.”

Cas breathed in again, but it was no use. The thought of Sam expelling Gadreel and dying in front of him was more than the ex-angel could bear. He knew that if he still had his powers Sam would have been blinded by his grace, would have seen only blazing white light and the shadow of his wings, and would have trembled to the depths of his very soul. But Cas was human, and so instead he did what humans did when pushed beyond endurance.

“YOU WILL _NOT!_ ” Cas practically screamed, rising from his position as supplicant for the first time since Sam had regained control of his body. He felt helpless tears stream down his face as he shook the hunter’s shoulders. “You will not leave me, Sam Winchester!”

Sam’s face betrayed his shock, but also a stubborn determination. Cas gritted his teeth and gambled, pulling out the one card he knew might sway Sam’s decision.

“What would I do without you, Sam? How would I survive? Do I mean so little to you?” Cas saw Sam bow under the weight of those words, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“There’s still so much for me to learn about life and…” he swallowed, lowering his voice, “and about love.”

He saw the shock that went through Sam at those words; finally saw a flicker of indecision in his eyes. He leant his forehead against Sam’s, closing his eyes, putting all of the depth of his fear, his pain, _– his love? Yes, love! -_ into his next words.

“I can’t lose you, Sam.”

He felt the moment Sam weakened in his decision, and let out a shaky sigh as he felt the hunter’s arms come around him, pulling him gently down onto his lap. Sam cradled Cas’s head against his shoulder, kissing his forehead as the ex-angel tried to hold back the sob that threatened to burst from him at any moment. Cas had thought he’d reached the depths of despair that a human being could endure during his time on the streets, but he found it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the fear of losing Sam, and the intensity of relief he felt at the hunter’s capitulation. He found himself re-evaluating _yet_ _again_ what it meant to be human.

As he put his arms around the hunter he heard Sam sigh, and felt him reach up to stroke his hair. However, after a few comforting strokes Sam’s hand suddenly stilled, gripping the back of Cas’s neck almost painfully. Cas tensed.

“Sam?” he asked tentatively, fright creeping back into his voice.

“Gadreel was there while we were…” Sam stated more than asked, swallowing hard as though trying not to vomit. Cas nodded reluctantly against Sam’s shoulder, tightening his arms around the hunter as he felt Sam waiver back towards his decision to expel the angel.

Gadreel must have felt it too, because the next thing Cas heard was the angel’s voice say “I’m sorry, Castiel. We tried it your way, now we do it my way,” before everything went black, and he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Gadreel walked out of the motel room, and straight past the man standing just outside. No, not a man. An angel.

“I know who you really are,” said the short, gray-haired angel, who sported a scruffy beard, and a perpetually condescending look.

Gadreel stopped walking and sighed.

“What do you want of me, Metatron?”

* * *

Dean looked up in surprise as the bunker door opened, and reached automatically for his weapons. When he saw his brother walking in, he tensed up more than if it had been Abaddon herself strolling through the doors. Because it wasn’t Sam, it was Ezekiel. And he was alone.

Something had gone badly wrong.

“Zeke, what the hell?” Dean spluttered. “Where’s Cas? What’s happened?”

“Gadreel,” the angel said, as if that explained everything.

“What?” Dean asked, stupidly, reaching for the holy water in case this was a demon, not an angel. Anything seemed possible after the week he’d had.

The angel moved closer, and Dean knew something had definitely changed, and not for the better.

He saw the angel’s eyes move to stare at something over his shoulder, and the steely resolve that filled them chilled Dean to the core. Without turning, he knew what the angel was looking at.

“Hey, Sam,” Kevin said, his head stuck in a book, oblivious to his peril.

“Kevin, go back to your room,” Dean hissed urgently, mistrusting the look in the angel’s eyes. He quietly backed up against a wall, cutting his hand on the blade he surreptitiously held, and started to draw a sigil with his blood. He’d hardly started when the angel was upon him, knocking him down with brutal efficiency. As Dean fell to the floor, struggling to focus, struggling to get to his feet, he saw the angel stride purposefully towards Kevin.

* * *

When Cas woke up he saw a familiar angel standing over him. “We’ve searched for you for a long time, Castiel,” the angel said, his thin face pinched in an expression of pure malice.

“Malachi!” Cas croaked, disbelieving.

The angel grinned an evil grin, and Cas had only a brief moment to lament how badly his day was going before it got much, much worse.

 

And then, thanks to the treachery of one of Malachi’s own, it suddenly got much, much better, and the odds briefly turned in favor of Team Free Will.

* * *

Dean looked up as the bunker door opened again. He hadn’t moved from Kevin’s side since the angel, who apparently was _not_ Ezekiel, had killed the Prophet and made off with the tablets, and his brother’s body, several hours ago. An epic failure on Dean’s part, no matter how you looked at it.

He saw Cas walking in, and knew immediately that something was different. He held himself more like the old Castiel, with the unconscious grace and insouciance of an immortal. Dean lowered his head as his friend came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. They stayed in that silent tableau for a long time; the hunter didn’t ask for forgiveness, and Cas had none left to give.

* * *

Theo’s grace burned inside Castiel; it felt strange, he mused, to have angelic power again after so long without. He had taken his own mojo for granted, had never realized how little he had known about the world until it was gone. But now, thanks to Sam, he was armed with more knowledge than he’d ever had, certainly more than Gadreel possessed after being locked away since the dawn of history.

All the little aches and pains of being human were gone; the stolen grace was like liquid fire in his veins. He unconsciously flexed his shoulder blades, feeling the pang of missing wings again. With this stolen power he could catch Gadreel. Force him to relinquish Sam. Make him and Metatron pay for what they’d done to Kevin and the Winchesters. But it might not be enough to heal Sam.

Sam had saved Cas, in more ways than one. Now it was up to Cas to do the saving, and for that he needed his Grace back. He needed Metatron.

He gripped Dean’s shoulder tighter in unconscious reaction to those thoughts, and Dean looked up into his eyes. It was eerily reminiscent of the day Castiel had raised the elder Winchester from Perdition, and they shared a look of silent understanding. Dean had been raised from Hell, Castiel had fallen from Heaven, and they had both returned from the clutches of Death itself.

Nothing could stand in the way of their vengeance.

* * *

Gadreel wondered if he should have killed Castiel when he had the chance. He felt for Sam’s mind and shuddered at what he saw there. Sam’s thirst for vengeance was only eclipsed by his intense love for Castiel, and the utter certainty that the former angel and his brother would hunt the angel to the ends of the earth for what he’d done.

Gadreel had never understood what his father had found so fascinating about the hairless apes. He understood a little better now. The shortness of their mortal lives seemed to give their existence an almost unbearable intensity. If Castiel returned even a tenth of Sam’s affection, well, that single-minded devotion, coupled with millennia of battle training and experience, would make Castiel the most formidable enemy Gadreel had ever faced, mortality notwithstanding. The former angel wouldn’t be caught off guard a second time, and if he got his Grace back… well, Gadreel imagined if an angelic Castiel got hold of him he would soon start longing for the endless tedium of an eternity in jail.

The angel shivered again as he awaited Metatron’s next instructions. The sooner he got off this forsaken planet the better.

* * *

Crowley looked up as the dungeon door slid open, taking in the sight of one very angry Winchester, and a furious _Grace-filled_ Castiel. He regarded the angel, whose eyes burned with an intensity Crowley hadn’t seen since their apocalypse-foiling days, with interest, then peered behind the duo, looking for the second Winchester. When he didn’t see him he leaned as far back in his chair as he could whilst still in chains, and smirked.

“I normally wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’… oh, wait. Yes I would. _I told you so!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, I was away at a con, letting my nerd flag fly. The next chapter should be up this week, as it was originally part of this chapter, but it got ridiculously long and had to be cut in half. If you’re still reading this far in, thanks for sticking with me! I love you guys!


	5. Snowflakes That Stay on My Nose and Eyelashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be the end of the last chapter, but it kinda grew a mind of its own. Therefore, same deal as the last chapter, there are gaps where the canon storyline takes over. The usual warnings: Canon divergence, some violence, lots of hanky panky, etc!

Crowley was glad he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of Castiel’s wrath for once. Normally he liked to rile the angel, just to see how far he could push him; he was such an easy target, it was like taking candy from a baby. A big, angry, trench-coated baby. But not this time, because Cas was in a dangerous mood today. A killing mood. And Crowley had no wish to end up immolated in a blaze of angelic light for saying the wrong thing.

“You’re very quiet,” Cas said suspiciously. Crowley sighed. Apparently he couldn’t do anything right. He shrugged, and the angel glared at him. Crowley met his gaze defiantly; he was the King of Hell, he would _not_ be cowed by a mere angel. As Cas’s eyes became luminous, and the air around him started to take on that ominous ozone tang, Crowley re-evaluated. Maybe it was ok to be a little cowed. He was still in chains after all.

“Whoa, Cas. Turn it down a notch, buddy,” Dean said, putting a placating hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Crowley didn’t do anything.” The Winchester reconsidered that statement. “This time, at least,” he amended.

After a moment where the demon and the human held their respective breaths, (Crowley out of solidarity more than anything), Cas subsided, like a bird smoothing ruffled feathers. Crowley shared a concerned look with the elder Winchester; Castiel was a ticking time bomb of human rage and grief. Add to that the return of his angelic power and it was a terrifying combination.

They all went back to watching the screen; Cas was glaring at it so intently that Crowley was vaguely astonished when the laptop didn’t burst into flame. As they studied the trail their target was leaving the demon smirked to himself. If Gadreel had had any sense he would have taken an anonymous car and driven himself to a place where he could drop off the face of the planet. Instead the angel, who seemed, unbelievably, to be even _less_ human-and-tech savvy than Cas, had made the fatal mistake of taking the Impala. He had then compounded that mistake by running several red lights, making his progress as easy to follow as if he’d put up signs at every intersection saying ‘I’m an idiot, please follow me.’

It soon became obvious that the angel was heading to Pennsylvania, and had a good six hours lead on them. Dean sighed, and started packing a bag full of weapons, while Cas just kept staring at the screen. Crowley regarded the angel with curiosity.

“Aren’t you going to… you know…” Cas just stared at him, uncomprehending, so he sighed and made a sarcastic flapping motion with his hands.

Cas narrowed his eyes, clearly understanding this time, and just as clearly angry. Dean looked up from packing, making frantic shushing gestures behind Cas’s back. After a second the demon’s eyes widened.

“Oh!” Crowley exclaimed with glee, throwing his ‘don’t piss the angel off’ plan out the window. “Has the ickle birdy had his wings clipped? My my.”

Cas frowned. “You just don’t know when to stop talking, do you?”

Crowley smirked. “Oh kitten, my voice might not have the ‘fuck me’ quality that yours does, but I _do_ so like the sound of it.”

Crowley looked over at Dean, who looked like he might throw up any second.

“Well, since Seraphim Airways has been grounded, we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Unless you’d care to unchain me?” Crowley held out his hands and shook the chains meaningfully.

Dean raised his eyebrows and the demon sighed.

“Thought not.”

* * *

The drive to Pennsylvania had been torture, and not just because of his fears for Sam’s safety in the confrontation to come. First Dean had made him sit in the back seat to watch Crowley, and then the demon had insisted on sitting squashed up next to him, even though there was plenty of room, simply because he sensed it made him uncomfortable. Which, Cas lamented, it wouldn’t have if he hadn’t spent so much time as a human. But now, personal space was definitely a concept he understood. Especially when that space was being invaded by the King of Hell. Cas had been trying to catch Dean’s eye in the rear-view mirror to silently plead for help for most of the trip, but the hunter had steadfastly refused to meet his gaze.

Crowley shifted again, and Cas twitched, the urge to place his hands around the demon’s neck and choke him to death almost overwhelming. He felt more than saw Crowley grin slyly, and cursed himself, knowing his reaction was exactly what the demon wanted.

By the time they reached their destination Cas was a mess of fear, irritation, anger and several other emotions, most of which involved a fantasy of carving out Gadreel and Crowley’s hearts and making them eat them.

Dean finally met his eyes in the mirror, and shied away from whatever he saw in them.

 _Good_ , Cas thought vindictively.

           

Minutes later Cas watched Gadreel knock Dean to the ground, the blood of his latest kill still on his hands, and was disgusted all over again by this supposed angel, this _murderer_. He waited patiently for Gadreel to turn around before laying him out with a supremely satisfying punch, hard enough to send him unconscious to the ground, not hard enough to accidentally kill him.

Cas stood over the unconscious form of the angel, shaking with the clash of two intensely strong, but conflicting, desires. The urge to carve his rage into the angel was almost overpowering, only the knowledge that this was Sam’s body stayed his hand. He stooped down, looking into Sam’s face, noting that in unconsciousness it looked much more like Sam than it had when Gadreel was in control. He gave in to one of his desires and reached out a hand, tenderly running his fingers down the side of the hunter’s face.

“It’s going to be ok, Sam. I’ll watch over you.”

* * *

 

Cas looked away as Crowley inserted the first spike, knowing it wasn’t really Sam who was being tortured, but still unable to bear the pain on his face. Dean’s attempt to guilt Gadreel into leaving had ended in failure, as Cas had known it would. Whatever game Gadreel was playing, he would see it through. It was what angels did, just kept going no matter the obstacles, or the consequences. Cas knew this better than most, having been in that position himself. So now it was plan B, Crowley hacking the angel, bypassing his ‘operating system’ to try and talk directly to Sam.

Cas could sense Sam’s injuries, and wondered if he had enough power to heal them. Maybe he did. Maybe he would burn himself out first, and they would both die. He pushed that unhelpful line of thought aside, none of that would matter unless they could get Sam to expel the angel.

Sam… _Gadreel_ … howled as Crowley inserted yet another spike into his skull, and Dean abruptly left the room. Cas followed, relieved to be putting a little distance between himself and the horror movie playing out in the main area of the warehouse.

“I can’t watch that anymore,” Dean groaned, rubbing a hand across his face.

“I understand. It’s not Sam, but… it’s still Sam,” Cas said, his voice steady only because his stolen power allowed him some control over his vocal chords.

Dean looked at him sharply, a knowing look in his eyes.

“How’re you doing, Cas?” he asked gently.

Cas didn’t know how to answer that. His whole world felt like it was crumbling around him. His stolen grace would not sustain him forever, his best friend was suffering, blaming himself for Kevin’s death and his brother’s situation, and Crowley was sticking spikes into Sam, _Sam_ , who he might lose only days after realizing that he needed the hunter like his human body had needed air. And then Cas realized he did know how to answer that question; the same way humans always answered a question like that, no matter what they were really feeling.

“I’m ok.”

 

It hadn’t worked, and now they were out of options. At Dean’s insistence Cas burned Sam’s anti-possession tattoo off, and watched as Crowley entered the younger Winchester. The thought of _Crowley_ poking around in Sam’s head, potentially causing mischief and mayhem, as the demon was want to do, made him burn with rage. Being in someone’s mind was as personal as it got, and the thought of the demon sharing an intimacy like that with Sam roused a possessive, jealous streak in Cas that he hadn’t known he'd possessed.

Dean started pacing, and Cas sat on the edge of the table, still as a statue, watching. Waiting.

Finally he heard it. Sam breathed the words ‘Get… the hell… _out!_ ’, so quietly that Cas’s supernatural hearing only just managed to pick it up. He had just enough time to cover his eyes and gesture for Dean to do the same before a blazing white energy emanated from Sam, and disappeared out the door, followed by the red smoke that constituted Crowley.

Cas bolted immediately to Sam’s side, peeling the macabre spikes out as quickly and gently as possible.

“Sam, are you ok?” he asked urgently.

“Cas?” Sam mumbled, blood running freely down his face. Cas nearly wept with relief. His willed his hands to stop trembling as he finished pulling the spikes out, while Sam gritted his teeth and endured.

“Why Crowley?” Sam muttered, as Cas gently closed his wounds with his power.

“What?” Cas asked, distractedly.

“Why did Crowley enter my mind, and not you?” Sam clarified. Cas pulled back to look the hunter in the eyes.

“Sam… I wanted to, but I can’t enter a vessel without permission. Crowley can.”

Sam stared at him with a look so intense it made Cas catch his breath.

“The ‘yes’ is always there, Cas,” he said gently. The angel felt the trust in that simple statement, and knew that Sam giving up the sovereignty of his body said more about Sam’s feelings for him than a straight declaration of love could ever have.

“I give you blanket permission to enter me at any time,” Sam added, and Cas nodded solemnly.

“I am honored by your trust in me, Sam.”

 

Sam realized what he’d just said, and tentatively looked over at Dean and Crowley, sighing as he saw they were seconds away from hysteria.

“Don’t…” he warned, but it was too late. Crowley let out a snort, and then both the human and the demon were doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Crowley’s mirth was an almost palpable force, and Sam knew he’d never live that choice of phrasing down.

“I don’t understand,” Cas said, confused. Sam opened his mouth to either explain, or yell at his brother, he wasn’t sure which, but just then headlights flooded through the window. Everyone stopped, silent, except for Cas, who as usual had reacted faster than all of them, bounding up the stairs. The angel’s next words made his stomach drop.

“It’s Abaddon!”

* * *

 Metatron watched the bottles in the bar explode as Gadreel came surging in to the room, taking up residence in his old vessel. He sighed.

“Let me guess, Winchester trouble?”

* * *

Back at the bunker Cas reflected on the day’s events while Sam had a shower, trying to wash the ‘angel stink’ off him, as he put it. Cas wasn’t offended, he knew what Sam meant, and didn’t blame him.

Cas thought about Crowley staying behind, and wondered what he’d said to Abaddon. He thought about Gadreel and Metatron, and the awesome (in the Biblical sense) come-uppance they had coming to them. But mainly he thought about the Winchesters.

On the way home they’d stopped at a bridge to allow Cas a moment to heal Sam, as much as was possible, which unfortunately wasn’t much. Cas had discovered to his dismay that the damage to Sam’s body was more severe than he’d thought, and would require several healing sessions. Cas felt his stolen grace waning with every passing moment and doubted he’d have enough left for more than two or three sessions, but they had to hope that was enough.

When Dean had tentatively approached them he’d wandered off to allow the brothers the illusion of privacy, something else he wouldn’t have thought to do before his time as a human. He’d heard every word of the discussion of course, and it had broken Cas’s heart when Dean had left, and Sam had refused to stop him. The Winchesters were his family now, and seeing them at odds like that caused him a feeling he could only describe as grief.

 

Sam walked into Cas’s room, feeling marginally refreshed, although a quick check in the mirror had shown him how pale and battle-weary he looked.

He studied Cas’s face for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Cas’s mouth twisted into a grimace, and Sam knew the angel was wondering how he’d known something was wrong, and envying the easy way the brothers read him.

“Dean,” Cas said, by way of explanation. Sam went very still, feeling his brows knit into a frown against his will.

“He made his choice, Cas, and he’ll have to live with it. As we all will. Except Kevin, he won’t be living with anything ever again.”

Cas nodded sadly. “No forgiveness, then?”

Sam was startled. “Really, Cas? Do you think me so heartless? I thought Heaven was all about forgiveness. Of course I’ll forgive him. But not yet. And I won’t forget what he’s done either.”

Sam could see Cas thinking about that.

“Am I forgiven, then?”

Sam was twice as taken aback as before. “For what, Cas? You haven’t done anything. Are you talking about before, when you killed the angels? Because I’m not qualified to offer absolution for that.”

Cas shook his head, looking off into the distance the way he did when he was trying to translate something human into something angel, something he could understand.

“No, for not realizing about Gadreel. For not realizing how badly injured you were. For forcing you to choose to live, and the consequences that came from that.”

Sam looked down into Cas’s solemn face. This wouldn’t stand.

“Cas… you can’t carry the weight of guilt that isn’t yours to bear. All of us, we carry so much already, you can’t add this to the load.”

“But,” Cas began. Sam held up a hand, and he fell silent.

“Cas, you’re not our ‘guardian angel,’ you’re our friend. Not everything that goes wrong in our lives is your fault. Usually it’s our own damn fault, or Crowley’s. Sometimes it’s just bad luck. You can’t watch us all the time, or stop us from getting hurt.”

Sam grabbed one of Cas’s hands, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles.

“Guilt is a very human thing to feel, sometimes it’s necessary, sometimes we feel it needlessly for one reason or another, like survivors guilt, or…” Sam gave him a sly sideways look, “religion. But you can’t carry it with you on top of everything else, it’ll cripple you.”

Sam saw that Cas wasn’t convinced, he had his stubborn look on, and Sam gripped the angel’s hand harder, trying to will him to understand.

 “Think of all the times you’ve saved us. For fuck’s sake, you bought both of us back from _Hell_ ,” Sam frowned as Cas started to argue, “yes, I know I didn’t have my soul, but dragging me out of the Cage? That’s going the extra mile, and I never really thanked you for it.”

He paused, and they both thought back to the day Sam had refused to hug Cas after his soul had been returned. Cas hung his head, remembering the sting of rejection, and Sam winced. How did he explain to the angel that he hadn’t hugged him because he’d been scared that if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to let go?

Instead of explaining further, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against the angel’s, letting his body say everything his words couldn’t. Cas sighed deeply, the sound of someone setting down a great burden. Sam pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked in confusion. His eyes were as wide as saucers, the startling blue of his irises almost eclipsed by the blackness of desire. Sam just stood and looked at his friend, his savior, his angel, until he started to fidget under his gaze. Sam shook himself.

“Talk to me, Cas,” he said softly, “tell me what you want.”

“I want…” Cas started, then stopped, thinking through his reply carefully. “I want to feel human again,” he said eventually. “I want to feel what I felt when we were in the motel. I want you to touch me, to do all the things I know you want to do. I want…”

But that last entreaty had been too much for Sam, and his reserve broke. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around the angel and crushing his lips against him with bruising force. Cas instantly responded, fitting against Sam’s body as though they were two halves made suddenly whole. Sam felt a faint ozone tang in the air as Cas pulled back long enough to gasp “I want _you!_ ” before pushing the hunter backwards onto the bed with so much force that he almost fell off the side.

Sam grinned up at the angel from his prone position, a little thrill of anticipation and nerves shooting through him at the look on Cas’s face. The angel was regarding him with a wild look in his eyes, and Sam realized he’d let go of some of the rigid control with which he held his vessel, allowing the remnants of his humanity to shine through. But there was still plenty of angel there, as Sam discovered when Cas unexpectedly reached down, grabbed Sam’s shirt, and ripped it off as easily as ripping tissue paper off a package.

Sam yelped in surprise and a small, pleased smile flickered at the corners of Cas’s mouth. The hunter reached out his arms invitingly, and Cas crawled fluidly onto the bed, ending up straddling Sam’s hips.

Sam gritted his teeth, his body had already responded to the predatory look in the angel’s eyes, but this new position had him uncomfortably hard, especially since he was still wearing pants. He saw Cas’s eyes change as he felt his body respond, and the angel shifted his hips slightly, experimentally seeking a reaction. He got one, and Sam let out a frustrated moan, bucking his hips upwards.

Cas put out a hand, holding him down with as little effort as a lion would hold down a mouse. And like said mouse, Sam wiggled and squirmed, but Cas was implacable; although he was _very_ clearly responding to Sam, now he had some grace back he seemed more capable of ignoring his body’s needs than the hunter was. The angel reached out his other hand and experimentally ran it down Sam’s chest, a little shiver of pleasure running through him at the feel of skin on skin.

As Sam felt Cas’s attention waiver, he took full advantage and grabbed the angel to him, rolling so he was now the one on top, propped up on his elbows, his legs between the angel’s.

Cas looked up into his eyes, confused.

“I wasn’t finished touching you!” he said, frowning. “Wasn’t I doing it right?”

“You were doing it just fine, Cas,” Sam said with a low chuckle, “but, let me show you some things first. After all, I believe I still owe you some human lessons.”

Cas thought about that, before nodding grudgingly. Sam leaned slightly backwards.

“Take off your shirt,” he commanded. Cas immediately waved a hand, and became naked from the waist up. Sam shivered involuntarily; the angel was beautiful, _magnificent_. Last time they’d been together he hadn’t really gotten a good look at the body Cas hid under all those layers. They’d hardly gotten undressed at all in the motel room, both too lost to desire, Sam from his years of pining after the angel, Cas because his human body had been expressing its lust for the first time. It had been wonderful, _breathtaking_ , but hurried, and Sam still couldn’t get past the fact that Gadreel had been present for such an intimate moment.

“Sam?” Cas asked, self-consciously, and Sam realized he’d been staring again.

"You're so beautiful, Cas," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss the angel, a long, slow, languid kiss that built up into something deeply passionate. Cas moaned against his mouth, his hands running up and down Sam’s back, trying to bring the hunter closer. Sam eventually broke the kiss, running his mouth from the corner of Cas’s lips, across the stubble of his jaw and down his throat, where he paused, sucking on Cas’s throat and scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin. The angel bucked upwards, gasping his name and clawing at his back, and Sam smiled to himself. Cas wasn’t quite so in control now, and Sam intended to erode that control completely, until the angel melted under his hands. With that in mind he kissed his way down Cas’s chest, before enfolding a hard nipple in his mouth, rolling the other gently between his finger and thumb.

“ _Sam!_ ” the angel whimpered, running his fingers over and over through the hunter’s hair in an agitated motion, shifting his hips desperately and moaning in a way that drove Sam halfway up the wall with desire.

Sam took pity on him, or else couldn’t contain himself any longer, he wasn’t sure which. After a few more flicks of his tongue, just for good measure, he leaned back and looked down at the angel again. He bit his lip, Cas looked utterly wanton and debauched, his hair was mussed, his pupils were dilated with desire, and the hard planes of his chest were slick with sweat. He looked positively sinful, and Sam nearly came undone from the sight alone.

“Cas…” he growled out, unable to form a more coherent sentence. Cas understood though, and almost before the syllable left his mouth they were both, finally, fully unclothed.

 

As he angel-mojod the last vestiges of clothes from their bodies Cas leaned up to kiss Sam, causing his rock-hard erection to slide along the length of the hunter’s. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily, and he let out a breathless moan that shot through Cas all the way to his toes. Cas felt his eyes roll back in his head, and ruthlessly he grabbed for some of the fast-disappearing grace, willing his body to hold on, to make this experience last as long as he could.

Cas was well aware that the stolen grace was running out much faster than expected, and that if he didn’t get his own Grace back from Metatron soon this could well be the last time he and Sam had together. He was determined to make it something to remember.

With that in mind he reached for Sam again, but the hunter shook his head, a small, knowing smile gracing his face, smoothing away the perpetually worried expression he always seemed to wear, making him seem younger, more like the Sam Cas had first met. Cas felt his heart stutter in his chest at the dark desire he saw in those eyes, and at the deeper emotions, the ones that caused his throat to close up and tears to prick behind his eyes.

Sam stared into his eyes for a few moments longer, as though trying to commit his face to memory, and then he was gone, kissing his way down Cas’s body again. He tilted his head to watch, and felt his jaw drop in surprise as Sam gave him a mischievous grin, before lowering his mouth slowly down Cas’s aching erection, until he was completely surrounded by a wet, feverish heat. Sam didn’t take his eyes from Cas’s for one second, and as the hunter put his mouth and tongue to good use, Cas couldn’t do anything except stare helplessly down, his hips trying to buck but held steady by Sam’s hands. He could have broken free of the restraint, of course, but he gave himself over to the hunter, allowed him to do with his body whatever he wanted. He felt a long, low whine escape his mouth as Sam removed his mouth for a minute, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his shaft.

“Feel good, angel?” Sam asked, his voice rougher than usual. Cas nodded helplessly.

 “Tell me, Cas,” Sam chided, and Cas felt his face grow warm. He wasn’t so naïve that he hadn’t realized what his voice did to Sam. He bit his lip, which also caused Sam an involuntary shiver, and took his time replying.

“It feels…” he said, bucking his hips as Sam rolled his balls in one hand, glaring down at the hunter at the interruption. Sam just grinned, and waited, looking like he could wait all day. Cas hissed, and Sam grinned wider.

“It feels… it feels like what Heaven should feel like. It feels like… love.”

He saw Sam’s eyes widen in surprise, an emotion Cas couldn’t read flitting across his face. The hunter appeared about to say something, but the desperate look in Cas's eyes must have stopped him, because he smiled wickedly before resuming the task he had briefly abandoned. As Cas started to moan helplessly under the assault Sam hummed his approval, which caused the angel to finally lose all semblance of control. Cas reached for the hunter’s hair, feeling that same intense feeling from last time pooling in his belly.

“ _Sam_ …” he hissed, before he suddenly came undone with as much, if not more, savagery than the previous time.

When he came to his senses this time Sam was looking down at him again; it seemed to Cas from the intensity in that gaze that if Sam could have stared at him forever he would have. That thought filled Cas with a feeling of such magnitude he thought his heart would burst.

Sam bit his lip so hard the angel was afraid he’d draw blood, and as he shifted Cas realized the hunter was still hard. Cas smiled to himself, it was time to make Sam feel the same pleasure he had just felt.

 

Before Sam even had time to register the change in Cas’s demeanor, he was on his back, back to where they had first started this encounter. Cas had a look in his eyes that Sam had seen many times before, usually on a hunt, the look that meant serious business. Sam felt himself pinned down by the angel’s eyes like a deer in headlights.

Cas leaned down slowly, capturing Sam’s mouth with his own. Sam caught his breath, it was an unpracticed kiss, but a kiss initiated by Cas was sweeter than the most experienced kiss from anybody else. He opened his mouth to the sensation, feeling Cas’s dry lips against his own, and felt the small pink tongue slip into his mouth. The smell of the angel was all around him, a scent that defied description, something like lightning on a summer’s evening, soft, yet dangerous. When Cas broke the kiss Sam felt himself reach up involuntarily, desperate for more, only to be pushed down by a gentle but firm hand on his chest.

“My turn, Sam,” Cas chided, with a glint in his eyes that caused Sam’s heart to stutter in his chest. He could only nod as Cas went back to the exploration of his body that he’d foolishly interrupted earlier. Sam made a note never to interrupt Cas again, because if this wasn’t Heaven he didn’t want to know what was.

Cas’s strong, long-fingered hands stroked gently down his chest, almost, but not quite, brushing the tip of his aching erection where it lay along his belly. Sam tried to buck his hips, but he may as well have been trying to move a mountain for all the good it did. Now Cas had some grace back he wasn't strong enough to push the angel away, not that he wanted to. He would never want to. He lay back passively, allowing the angel complete control, as Cas ran his hands over his body, watching his reactions with his head tilted to the side in a familiar gesture of curiosity. Sam was reminded intensely of a cat playing with a mouse.

When Cas tired of exploring with his hands he leaned down and captured a nipple gently with his teeth.

“Holy fuck!” Sam practically howled. Cas released him and looked up, genuine, playful amusement lighting his features.

“Really?” he asked, his husky voice filled with suppressed laughter. Sam blushed when he realized the turn of phrase he’d used, feeling a wry smile grace his face.

Cas continued to smirk as he bent his head back to the task Sam had interrupted, and as Sam felt Cas’s elegant fingers and pink lips doing their jobs he started to wonder if he was going to last much longer. He’d never been so turned on in all his life, and as much as he wanted to hold on, to drag this out for as long as possible, he just didn’t think that was going to be within the realms of the physically possible.

Cas seemed to feel and understand the tension in his body, and so with one final, playful sweep of his hand across his chest he shifted position, ran his lips down Sam’s abdomen, and took him gently into his mouth.

Sam re-evaluated his list of ‘hottest experiences of his life’ to put ‘watching Cas slide his lips down his cock’ at the number one position.

“Cas…” he gasped out, “look at me!”

Cas immediately lifted his eyes and Sam was captivated by the expression in them.

“Cas…” he hissed again. Cas narrowed his eyes and Sam wondered…

“Castiel…” he tried, and the angel’s involuntary reaction caused Sam to smile inwardly. So Cas liked to hear his proper angelic name? That was information to file away and use at a later date.

Cas did something particularly pleasing with his tongue and Sam hissed.

“Fast learner,” he muttered and Cas’s eyes lit with amusement, proving just how much he’d learned by humming his approval around Sam’s cock. That was the final straw for the hunter.

“Cas… oh _fuck_ …” Sam only had time to hiss out as he came. Although the angel had little to no warning he didn’t seem discomforted, so Sam lost himself to the sensation, coming so hard he felt the edges of his vision go black.

When he came back to himself it was to see Cas propped up on an elbow next to him, sporting a smug expression that was a vast improvement on how their other encounter had ended.

“Cas…that was…” Sam stuttered, and Cas actually blushed, which Sam thought was adorable. As he gazed upon the face he knew better than he knew his own, he was filled with so much love and tenderness he thought he might burst.

“Cas…I…,” but he didn’t get any further before a sudden coughing fit racked the angel. Sam was immediately alarmed, angels didn’t cough. When Cas removed his hand from his face, Sam saw the blood there and cursed.

“Shit, Cas!” he cried out, leaping out of bed to grab some tissues, leaning over to carefully wipe the blood from his lips. The angel looked just as bewildered as Sam felt, until he made a hand gesture, and a look of fear ghosted briefly across his face. Sam didn’t understand what had happened until Cas got out of bed and reached for his clothes, dressing himself without angelic help.

“The grace? It’s almost gone, isn’t it?” Sam asked, trying to keep the terror out of his voice.

“Yes,” Cas said, matter-of-factly, pulling his shirt on. He shivered, and Sam realized with another surge of panic why Cas had been so keen to get dressed.

The angel was _cold_.

Sam hurriedly pulled his own clothes on, then picked up a surprised Cas and put him back in the bed, pulling the blankets up around him.

“Sam!” Cas protested. Another shiver wracked him and silenced whatever he’d been going to say next. Sam looked into eyes that seconds ago had been dark with desire, but were now fever-bright. Sometime during their love-making Cas had spent enough of the rest of the grace that he’d reached the tipping point. The grace was no longer sustaining him, now, as it burned away, it was killing him.

Sam lay down beside the angel, pulling him back against his body. They clutched each other with a keen-edged desperation, and Sam reflected bitterly on the fact that they couldn’t even have one night without some disaster. Of course, he’d known that the next catastrophe wouldn't be far away, he'd learned that from bitter experience.

He just hadn’t expected the crisis to come so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Sam. Sorry, Cas!


	6. Chapter 6: Part 1: Sam is Cas's Favourite Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far in this fic I’ve tried to follow as close to the overarching canon story-line as possible. That’s completely thrown out the window from now on.  
> Fair warning, this chapter is also pretty violent and super angsty. I’ll make it up to you next chapter, promise!

The night had seen Cas’s fever break, and Sam was feeling slightly more optimistic as he fussed around in the bunker’s kitchen, preparing to feed his angel back to a modicum of health. Cas had assured him that as long as he didn’t use his powers he would be ok. Sam had heard the unspoken end to that sentence, _‘for long enough to find Metatron’_ , which they both chose to ignore.

When he walked back into the bedroom with a steaming bowl of chicken soup Cas was sitting up in bed, the blankets pulled around his shoulders like a super-hero cape. Sam was relieved to see that the angel looked much better, although his normally piercing blue eyes were dull with fatigue, and the deep purple shadows under them stood out vividly against the pallor of his skin.

Cas looked up as he shut the door and sniffed suspiciously.

“What’s that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Sam grinned, he’d already discovered that Cas was a very bad patient. He supposed it wasn’t that surprising, if you’d never been sick before the whole experience would probably be both terrifying and unpleasant in the extreme.

“Chicken soup!” he said brightly. “It’s what humans eat when they’re not feeling well.” He walked over and placed the meal on a tray by Cas’s side. The angel looked at the soup like he’d just said it was made from puppies.

“Does eating it _make_ you unwell?” Cas whined. “I have my taste back, Sam! I don’t want soup! It’s _yellow_.”

Sam rolled his eyes. It was worse than when Dean got sick, and he hadn’t thought that was possible.

“What do you want then, Cas?” he asked patiently.

 Cas looked down and twisted his fingers in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he muttered, almost inaudibly. Then, “please”, as an afterthought.

Sam almost grinned; if Cas was hungry enough for a sandwich it meant he was feeling at least a little better. He kept a serious face on though, worried that the angel, with his limited human experience, would think he was mocking him.

“Coming right up,” he said instead, reaching over for the hated soup.

“Sam,” Cas said suddenly, grabbing his arm. Sam looked over into eyes that regarded him with a suddenly vulnerable look.

“Yes, Cas?” he asked gently, covering the angel’s hand with his own.

“Could… could I have _two_ sandwiches?”

Sam smiled. “I think I can manage that.”

* * *

“How are you feeling, Sam?” Cas asked as he started chowing down on the second sandwich. Sam frowned, Cas’s descent into ill health had meant the angel could no longer heal him, and Sam had hoped that little problem would remain one of the things that lay unspoken between them. He didn’t want Cas blaming himself for something else that wasn’t his fault.

For the first time since he’d found Cas, Sam stopped to think about his own body, to feel what it had to tell him.

“I actually feel pretty good,” Sam said, surprised to realize it was true.

Cas nodded, unsurprised. “I can feel some of Gadreel’s Grace still inside you, it’s propping you up, keeping your organs from degenerating back into the state they were before.”

Sam sat bolt upright from where he’d been lounging on the bed, horrified. “You mean some of that bastard _is still inside me?_ ”

Cas nodded warily. “Yes, but it’s just a residue, he can’t feel you, or control you.”

Sam thought about that, trying to sort through his immediate and overwhelming disgust to figure out the implications. “Could we use it to find him somehow?”

Cas shrugged and looked at Sam’s nose, clearly trying to be subtle about avoiding his eyes, and failing miserably.

“No,” he said.

Sam sighed, it was the first time since becoming human that Cas had outright lied to him, and he could only assume it was for the same reason his brother so often lied right to his face, out of some misguided need to protect him. But unlike his brother, Cas was a terrible liar.

Sam just sat there patiently, staring at the angel as he ate another bite of sandwich, clearly determined not to say anything else. He waited. Cas fidgeted. He waited a bit more. Cas eventually put the last half of the sandwich down and turned to meet his eyes, the piercing blue as sharp as a knife through Sam’s soul. He didn’t flinch, and the angel sighed.

“We could extract the Grace for a tracking spell. But it might kill you,” Cas looked away, hunching his shoulders, a curious gesture Sam had come to associate with Cas’s grief over losing his wings.

“It’s worth the risk, Cas,” Sam said, without a second’s hesitation.  “We have to find Gadreel, because once we find Gadreel, we find Metatron, and once we find Metatron, we find your Grace, and with you back at full strength we have a fighting chance of winning this thing.” Sam watched as Cas poked at the rest of his sandwich, clearly no longer hungry.

After a long, tense minute Sam leaned over and gently kissed Cas on the mouth. The angel closed his eyes with a sigh, but as he reached out to pull Sam closer the hunter pulled back.

“Never lie to me again, Cas,” he admonished gently, waiting for the angel’s sober nod of agreement before getting up and making for the door. As he reached for the door handle he paused, looking back into the anxious eyes of his angel.

“Being human means settling your debts. Let’s start balancing the books.”

* * *

Cas grimaced as he pulled out the syringe he would use to extract Gadreel’s Grace from Sam. He looked at the hunter, who was stoic in the face of impending potential death. He felt his hands start to shake, and his stomach clench with nausea. The thought of putting the needle into Sam’s neck and removing possibly the only thing keeping him alive made him want to howl with anguish, but he swallowed his pain, pushing it deep down somewhere inside him. Because Sam was right, this was their best chance to find Gadreel and Metatron.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

“ _Winchesters!_ ” he muttered to himself, with as much venom as a curse. Sam heard him and smiled slightly. Cas sighed. The brother’s propensity for self-sacrifice was something he understood a bit more now, after all, he found he would happily die for the man in front of him. With this in mind, he lifted the syringe, willing his hands to stop trembling. Sam closed his eyes, and Cas stared down into the face of the human who had come to mean so much to him. And discovered that understanding Sam's reasons wasn't enough. Finding Gadreel wasn't enough. Saving the world wasn't enough. Cas couldn't let Sam do this without a fight.

“Sam,” Cas said, his voice as level as he could make it, “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

“Cas,” Sam replied, in the same even tone, “Kevin died because of me. I owe it to him to do everything I can to avenge his death.”

Cas unconsciously felt for wings that weren’t there. Not for the first time in the last few days he longed to bring out his power, to blaze with all the glory of his angelic status, and make this intolerable, insufferable, _astonishing_ human being tremble beneath the weight of his words. Instead he put the syringe down before it shattered in his hand and said, in his most reasonable voice, “Sam. You remember what you told me about carrying guilt that’s not yours to bear? Or do those rules only apply to anyone who isn’t a Winchester?”

Sam opened his eyes, and started to sit up, clearly about to try and take the syringe and attempt the extraction himself. Cas quickly moved to block him. “Sam. You were _tortured by Lucifer_ for over a century to stop the _apocalypse!_ If anything, the world owes _you_ , not the other way around.”

They stared at each other, Cas with fury evident in every line of his body, Sam as still and stubborn as a marble statue. The old words hung between them, ‘ _abomination_ ’… ‘ _boy with the demon blood_ ’… ‘ _monster_ ’. Cas had thought all these things about Sam, and more, and Sam knew it. The angel could practically see the scar on Sam’s soul that those thoughts had caused and realized, with a shudder that shook him to his very core, that it was his judgement of Sam that the hunter tried to expunge with every noble gesture, every self-sacrifice, every decision that hurtled him closer to death.

Cas felt so distant from his past self that it was like another being had believed those terrible things; he couldn’t understand now how he could have been so blind to the purity of the soul Sam Winchester hid from the world behind his brooding façade.

Cas didn’t know how to take back the appalling things he’d said and thought. So he settled for the truth.

“Sam. You’ve made mistakes, we all have. But everything you did, you did for the right reasons. Everything Dean has done has been for the right reasons,” Cas saw the flicker of anger at the mention of Dean’s name, and felt another stab of sorrow. “You’ve proven yourself time and again. If anyone in this room is the unworthy one, the one who needs to ‘balance the books’, it’s me.”

Sam shook his head and Cas knew, with a sinking feeling that nearly floored him, that he’d lost. The hunter reached over, took the syringe, and placed it in the angel’s hand.

“Then you should start with this."

 

Cas shuddered as he filled part of the syringe with the glowing grace that was all that remained of Gadreel’s possession of Sam. Sam was trembling, and Cas knew the hunter was recalling all the things he’d done under Gadreel’s influence. A tear trickled down Sam’s cheek, and the angel’s heart bled for him. The memory of Kevin’s death would haunt the hunter for the rest of his life, just as the memory of the angels he’d slaughtered would haunt him forever.

Eventually Cas could bear it no more, and stopped. He was killing his Sam, and he couldn’t keep going. Not even if it meant he died himself when his stolen grace burned out. Not even if it was the only way to save the world from Metatron. He was quietly shocked that he was able to make that decision, always before in his long, long life he had done what had to be done, no matter how unpleasant, because the ends always justified the means.

“What’s happening?” Sam gasped, feeling the pressure at his neck ease.

“Your body is regressing to the state it was in before Gadreel possessed you. We have to stop, Sam!” Cas replied, his voice shaking.

Sam glanced at the half-full syringe. “Do we have enough grace to find Gadreel?”

“Sam…”

“Do we or not, Cas?”

“No,” Cas sighed, mindful of his promise not to lie. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for Dean, keeping Sam from killing himself seemed to be a full-time job. Of course, the eldest Winchester didn’t have the greatest track record in the ‘avoiding death’ department either.

“Then keep going,” Sam demanded, proving once again that angels didn’t have a monopoly on single-minded determination. Cas shook his head vehemently.

“Cas, my life isn’t worth more than anyone else’s,” Sam said, gently.

“It is to me!” Cas ground out.

“Please, Cas, please help me do this one thing right.”

“Sam, nothing is worth losing you,” Cas said, bowing his head. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Cas wasn’t finished.

“No. Not only will I not let you sacrifice yourself like this, but I refuse to be the instrument of your death. You can’t make me kill you, Sam, it’s not fair. You think you’ll suffer, living a mortal life span knowing you killed Kevin when you had no control over your body? How do you think it will be for me to live for eternity knowing I deliberately killed the one person I cherish above all others?”

Cas decisively put the syringe away before slamming his hand against Sam’s forehead, none-to-gently, giving the hunter no time to protest as he poured out enough of his remaining grace to stabilize Sam’s battered body. Then, without another word, he marched out of the room, leaving a bewildered and shaken hunter to sort through the implications of his words.

 

As Cas stalked out of the bunker’s lower rooms and into the main living area he felt the tell-tale presence of another angel, a fraction of a second before his eyes picked out the unwelcome form lurking in the shadows.

“Hello, Castiel,” Gadreel said, stepping forward. “That was a noble gesture, but ultimately a futile one.”

“Gadreel,” Cas said, in a deceptively mild tone that belied the cold hatred in his eyes. “It was incredibly foolish of you to come here.”

Gadreel looked him up and down, and Cas knew the rogue angel was taking in his bedraggled appearance, looking for weaknesses, and finding many.

“Maybe,” Gadreel replied, a slightly self-mocking smile playing across his lips. “But I’ve decided I can’t let you live. If I do you’ll never give up chasing me. And if you get your own Grace back, I’m finished.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, assessing his enemy much as Gadreel had been assessing him a moment before. The vessel Gadreel was now inhabiting was taller and stronger than Cas’s vessel, and Gadreel was in possession of his full angelic powers. But the other angel did not inhabit his vessel with the ease with which Cas inhabited his. He still walked with a measured step, holding himself at the stiff angle that Cas remembered from his first experience inhabiting Jimmy Novak’s meat suit. It was no easy thing to learn to walk, or fight, in a human body.

 “You’re finished anyway, Gadreel,” he growled, keeping the conversation going, giving Sam as much time as possible to recover and realize something was wrong. The very fact that the angel was here meant that their defenses were far more compromised than they'd thought.

Gadreel subtly rocked up onto the balls of his feet at those words, and Cas bared his teeth, feeling his attention narrow to one singular thing, his enemy. It was a familiar sensation, and Cas felt his battered body ready itself for battle, preparing to destroy this invader, the one who had used Sam’s body to do unspeakable things. A stream of Enochian left his mouth, a curse so ancient and vile it had no human translation. He saw Gadreel finch back before the words, and felt a vicious satisfaction, followed hard on its heels by a hatred so vast it felt like it could block out the sun itself. Castiel readied his angel blade, and Gadreel did the same, tension humming in the air between them.

And then there was no more time for words. Gadreel was fast, but even weakened Castiel was faster. Gadreel tried to throw him across the room using his angel mojo, but Cas was wise to that trick, was in fact wise to any trick Gadreel, who had been in jail since the beginning of time, might choose to pull. He dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, rolling with a fluidity and cat-like grace that no true human could have managed. He fetched up right at Gadreel’s feet and swiftly, brutally, efficiently, severed the angel’s hamstrings.

The angel fell hard, without making a sound. Cas might have admired such stoicism if he hadn’t been intent on making the angel scream, to beg for mercy. He sprang to his feet and viciously kicked Gadreel in the chest, making sure he was too winded to try any more tricks, before reaching down to score a long, savage cut up the angel’s face, stopping just below his eye.

“Metatron, or the eye,” he said, his voice as cold as a glacial lake in midwinter.

Gadreel stared up at him, blood dripping down his face, the only sound the angel’s ragged, and unnecessary, breathing.

“Try to grab me and I’ll break both your arms,” Cas added, seeing Gadreel’s hand twitch out of the corner of his eye. “Try to leave your vessel and I’ll shove my blade into your heart before you even get halfway.”

Cas casually cut another slash in the angel’s face, pausing to hover over his eye again, his foot slowly crushing the angel’s chest with inexorable force. Cas could see Gadreel trying to gather his angelic power to throw him off, but he had never had Cas’s power, his control. Cas had fought other angels before, hundreds of times. He knew exactly how they thought, and exactly what he had to do to stay one step ahead. Every time he felt the angel rally he ground his heel into the broken ribs a little further, forcing Gadreel to concentrate on healing himself instead of killing his opponent.

Cas scored another cut across Gadreel’s face, staring straight into his eyes, searching for any hint of remorse, or of weakening resolve. He saw neither, just a steely determination that enraged him even further.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” he hissed, causing Gadreel to flinch. “You destroyed the world, Gadreel. And then, when you had a chance to atone, you threw in with _Metatron_ , who tossed the angels out of Heaven like so much garbage! You murdered innocent angels and their vessels; worse, you murdered a Prophet and used _Sam Winchester’s_ body to do it! Do you even know what that human has sacrificed for the world? Well? _Do you_?” Cas punctuated his last words with another vicious cut across Gadreel’s now heavily bruised and bleeding face.

“Yes!” gasped out the angel beneath him, pain lacing every word. “Yes, I saw it in his mind. I saw what he went through. I saw what our fallen brother did to him. But that’s not all I saw.” Gadreel tried to laugh, but only a shaky wheeze came out, along with a trickle of blood. Castiel watched, as remorseless and pitiless as a pillar of stone.

“You have a nerve lecturing me, Castiel. I saw what you did, through Sam’s eyes. We both know you’ll never atone for all the deaths you’ve caused. And if that’s not enough reason for you to repent, do you even realise what _you_ put Sam through?”

Cas stood stock still, staring down at Gadreel, who let out another half-laugh, half-gasp.

“You think you did it all for the right reasons? Well, everything I did was for the right reasons too.”

At those words Cas’s paralysis was broken, and his mind went blank of everything except a deep, raging torrent of fury, and a lust for revenge that seemed seeped into the very marrow of his bones. He nodded grimly and pulled back his hand, ready to take out his vengeance on the angel beneath him. Slowly.

* * *

 Sam watched the last of the exchange between the angels from the passageway, unsure whether his presence would be a hindrance or a help. He felt the reassuring heft of the blade in his hand and decided to hold back until Cas had discovered all he could from Gadreel. But then he saw the mood in the room shift, from necessary violence to causing pain for the sake of causing pain. Sam knew that look well; after all, it was the face Lucifer had shown to him for over a hundred years.

He groaned, this wasn’t good. Cas had learned the one lesson about humanity that the hunter had never wanted him to learn, the human capacity for cruelty, hatred, and brutality.

“Stop!” Sam yelled, running into the room without pausing to think, dropping his weapon on the floor in his haste. “You can’t do this, Cas!” He stopped, close, but not close enough to provoke Cas into any rash action.

 “I’m an angel, Sam. We do what is necessary,” Cas said, with a lack of emotion that chilled Sam to his core. The look of cold fury in Cas’s eyes caused him to shiver involuntarily, but at that reaction a glimmer of something more like the Cas Sam knew flickered behind his stony façade. Sam held up his hands in the universal gesture of submission, showing that he was unarmed.

“I’m sure that was true, once, but not any more.” Sam took a deep breath. Careful. He needed to be very, very careful. “I know you, Cas. This is _not_ you. Torturing Gadreel is not necessary, or even justice. It’s revenge, pure and simple. And that’s what the bad guys do.”

Cas didn’t put down the blade, but he pulled back a fraction. “Are we the good guys, Sam?” he asked seriously.

“Maybe not. But we’re better than them,” he jerked his chin in the direction of Gadreel, who had lost his arrogant look, abject terror manifest in every line of his body.

Sam stared at Cas for a long moment, and saw an unreadable flicker of emotion cross his face, something akin to sorrow.

Cas turned back to Gadreel, his head tilted to the side.

“I won’t let him go,” he said, steadily.

“No one’s asking you to, Cas. Just, to show mercy.”

Sam would never know what passed between Gadreel and Castiel in that moment, just that Gadreel only had time for one very human exclamation - “oh, _fuck!_ ” - before Castiel plunged his blade into the angel’s heart, leaving nothing but a body, and the charcoal remains of wings, where one of the oldest of the angels had been only moments before.

 

“Now we don’t know where Metatron is,” Cas sighed, holding himself with the straight-backed arrogance Sam remembered from their early days together, the cold, alien wrath still not completely absent from his face. Sam could see the pain there though, and the regret, in the slight slump of his shoulders, and the barely perceptible tremble of his hands.

“Don’t we?” Sam asked, with a small, slightly shaky, smile. He saw Cas turn slightly towards him, and held up the wallet he’d looted from Gadreel’s body. Cas frowned, questioningly, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Metatron needs Gadreel. Gadreel is the brawn to Metatron’s supposed brain. When Gadreel doesn’t show up to their next meeting, where’s the first place he’s going to look?”

Cas’s eyes cleared, understanding dawning as he looked at the driver’s license Sam was pulling out of the wallet. “Gadreel’s vessel’s home.”

“Exactly.”

Cas frowned again. “Neither of us is in any condition to take out Metatron, his powers are beyond mine, and would have been even when I was at full strength,” he turned his head away and coughed, a harsh, raspy sound that stabbed into Sam like a knife through the heart. Cas’s next words only twisted that knife deeper. “The fight has weakened me even further. I’m… not sure there’s much time left.”

Sam felt his whole body slump at those words, but he knew they couldn’t give in to despair. Not yet. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. There was only one inescapable conclusion.

 “We need Dean.”

“Worse,” Cas said grimly, and grimaced as Sam met his eyes.

“ _Crowley!_ ” they both sighed in unison.

* * *

“You killed Gadreel, and have a lead on Metatron?” Crowley asked, disbelieving. “That’s impressive even by our relatively high apocalypse-stopping standards. You’ve been holding out on me, Thursday.”  The demon nudged Gadreel’s corpse with a contemplative foot. He was concerned; as soon as they had summoned him he’d sensed the weakness in not only Moose, but the angel as well. They were both dying, and while that might have pleased him at one point, he knew if he was to have a hope in…ahem… _hell_ … of besting Abaddon he’d need every ally he had at full strength. The demon refused to examine his apprehension any further in case it turned out he was actually worried about the duo for more personal reasons. That would be unthinkable.

His dire thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a very haggard looking Dean Winchester. Crowley knew the schism between the brothers had hurt the denim-wrapped nightmare badly; it was a weakness he’d been trying to exploit ever since they went their separate ways. He grinned, taking in the stiffness of Sam’s body, the dejection of Castiel’s blood-spattered form, and the look of shock on Dean’s face as he took in the tableau before him. It was turning out to be one of his more interesting afternoons with the Winchesters, and considering their shared history that was no mean feat.

As Dean shuffled down the stairs the tension in the room ratcheted up to eleven. The stare the brothers shared could have melted a hole in a solid titanium wall, and Crowley quickly beckoned Castiel to the other side of the room with a jerk of his head.

“What?” the angel hissed when they were as far away as the room would allow.

“Shh,” Crowley hissed back. “Let the humans have their moment. If they don’t have it out with each other now it’s going to be a very uncomfortable car trip.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, then shrugged, his head already tilted imperceptibly to the side, a sure sign he was listening with enhanced ears. Crowley smirked, he sometimes wondered if the angel realized the two of them weren’t as different as they liked to pretend. That thought caused him to glance at Gadreel’s corpse again, his practiced gaze noting the caved in chest, the severed hamstrings, the multiple bruises and lacerations.

Not so different indeed.

* * *

Dean stared at his brother, noting the shaking hands, the greasy hair, and the eyes that were fever bright in a too-pale face.

“Sammy, you look terrible,” he blurted, unable to keep the anxiety from his voice. A movement caught his eye, Crowley was grinning, and Cas had covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. So, the demonic pest and the fallen angel were listening in and judging his choice of words. Great. Perfect.

Dean’s attention snapped back to his brother as Sam scrunched up his face into an expression he knew all too well.

“Wait. Just wait,” Dean held out a hand in entreaty and, after a pause, Sam nodded reluctantly. Dean had cause to be grateful for the thousands of hours the two of them had spent together over the last few years; they had developed a way of communicating that went deeper than words. He took a deep breath, trying to stop his heart from beating its way out of his chest. What he had to say next would either start the healing process, or break them apart completely. He hesitated.

“Out with it, Dean,” Sam sighed.

Dean nodded sharply. Waiting wouldn’t make this conversation any easier.

“If it had been Cas, what would you have done?”

Sam staggered as though he’d been slapped.

“That’s not fair! It’s not the same,” his brother hissed, recovering.

"Isn’t it?” Dean asked, standing his ground with determination, putting all of his anguish into his next words. “Sam, you’re my brother, you mean more to me than anyone else in the world. Cas is your…” he faltered, reaching for an appropriate label and failing to find one, “…everything,” he finished lamely. “If it’d been Castiel dying in agony in that hospital bed, what would you have done? _What would you have done, Sammy?_ ”

Sam stepped back, pacing across the room and back, running his hands through his hair in agitation. Dean glanced at the demon and the angel, who had given up any pretense of not listening and were standing eerily, silently, and completely still, as only two beings who didn’t really need to breathe could.

“Alright, damn you!” Sam growled eventually, breathing hard. “I would have saved him. Of course I would. I would have torn Heaven and Hell apart. I would have burned the world to ashes if that’s what it took!”

With the tiny part of his brain not focused on his brother, on mending the abyss between them, Dean noticed Cas stagger backwards, only Crowley’s lightning-quick reflexes stopping him from tripping over Gadreel’s body. He had a brief impression of a chalk-white face and blazing blue eyes, before his attention was one hundred percent back on his brother. On the face he knew as well as his own, now free of Gadreel’s influence.

“You don’t have to forgive me, Sam,” he said softly, “I know that will take time. Hell, I’ll never forgive myself, after Kevin…” Dean swallowed, feeling his throat close over at the memory of Kevin lying on the floor of the bunker, his eyes burned out by a blaze of angelic fire. He closed his eyes against the image and forced himself to go on. “But I need you to understand. Before we go and confront that son of a bitch Metatron. In case…” he stopped, unable to finish the sentence. But they all heard the unspoken words. _In case one of us doesn’t make it_.

Sam stopped pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists. He glanced over his shoulder at Cas, and something unspoken passed between them. Dean held his breath. After another moment Sam’s shoulders sagged, and he wiped a shaking hand across his face.

“I’m so angry Dean, I’m so angry at you, you have no idea.”

Dean nodded. “I know, Sam. I know you are.”

“Kevin…” Sam stopped, swallowing hard. “Kevin died because of me, Dean. I will never, _never_ get rid of the image of my hand reaching out and taking his life.”

Dean nodded again, instinct warning him not to speak.

“But I wouldn’t have been forced to murder our friend if you hadn’t done what you did. His death is as much on your head as it is mine. And I can’t get over that. Not yet, maybe not for a long while. And as for kicking Cas out of the bunker, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that, your good intentions be damned.”

Dean held his brother’s eyes, seeing all the pain there, knowing Sam saw that pain reflected back. Still Dean stayed silent, and waited for his brother to finish. Sam sighed, looking away, as though his next words pained him.

“But I do understand. I do. I hate it, but I get it. And maybe, once we’ve ganked Metatron, and restored Cas’s Grace, that will go some way towards evening the scales.”

Dean opened his mouth, but before he could get out even one more word Crowley interrupted him, as usual.

“Well, this has been a lovely little interlude, and as much as I’d love to grab some popcorn and watch you two act out an episode of Jerry Springer, I’m afraid we have some rather pressing matters to attend to, such as saving the world. Again.”

* * *

After that it was all business. Sam put away his anger at Dean and his worry for Cas and focused on getting as ready as he could for the confrontation to come. Cas was brooding, no doubt about his fight with Gadreel, but that was another conversation that would have to wait. Dean had gone over to talk to him and Sam was grateful, which amused him, considering that his reaction to Dean and Cas whispering in corners together was usually unbridled, raging jealousy. Sam grinned a little to himself, feeling a childish bubble of glee float up through all the aches and pains and doubts and fears. Imminent death or not, he was the one with the ‘profound bond’ with the angel now.

Crowley walked into his field of vision and Sam suddenly lost all trace of mirth. There was one thing left to take care of before he could fully focus on the daunting task in front of them.

After making sure that Cas and Dean were deep in conversation, Sam beckoned Crowley to the other side of the room. He knew Cas would normally have been able to hear every word he said, but right at that moment the angel’s attention was fixed elsewhere, and Sam was well aware that he might not live long enough to put this request before Crowley at a later date.

“What is it, Moose?” the demon asked in a disinterested tone that didn’t fool Sam for a second. “I don’t have the power to heal you or Feathers over there. Besides, I’m the King of Hell, I can’t come running every time a Winchester gets a sniffle. Or did you want to talk to me about angel sex? If that’s the case, I could give you a few pointers. For a price, of course.”

Crowley winked and Sam ground his teeth.

“How would you know about angels and… you know what, don’t tell me, I really, _really_ don’t want to know,” Sam sighed, running a hand across his face. This was going to be harder than he’d thought. “But I do have something you might like to know, about someone who might benefit from a visit by a Crossroads Demon. Assuming they have a soul to sell, of course.”

“I’m listening,” Crowley said, inspecting his fingernails, before looking up with a piercing gaze. “Someone must’ve really pissed you off, Sam Winchester. I would have thought sending a mortal soul to its doom would have gone against that moral compass you insist on waving about at every opportunity.”

“They don’t have to accept your deal,” Sam said, calmly.

“Oh, come on, Moose,” Crowley scoffed.

Sam shrugged. He knew as well as the demon did that troubled souls almost always took the deal. Especially a deal brokered by Crowley, who had made manipulation into an art form. And yet. They didn’t _have_ to take the deal.

Crowley waited, and although he hadn’t moved, something in his manner had shifted, and now he looked predatory, more like a demon somehow. Sam shivered, and immediately regretted the involuntary reaction; showing weakness in front of a demon, no matter how co-operative he was being at the time, was never a good idea. He gritted his teeth, it was time to say what he’d come to say, and let the chips fall where they may.

“About 2pm the day before you and Dean appeared uninvited on our motel room doorstep, there was a man in a white van outside the Highway Diner in Colorado Springs. He pushed a black-haired, blue-eyed man out of his moving vehicle, after this particular person refused to ‘pay’ for his trip.” Sam glanced significantly over at Cas, but Crowley hadn’t needed such an obvious clue to know exactly what he was talking about. Crowley’s eyes flared red for a split second, and rage tensed the demon’s shoulders, brought under control so quickly that Sam knew if he’d blinked he would have missed it.

Sam narrowed his eyes, hiding his own satisfaction. He hadn’t been sure how that conversation would go, but the gamble had paid off. It seemed he hadn’t been mistaken, the human blood had weakened the demon’s capacity for indifference, had allowed him to feel a modicum of compassion. Add to that the strange, wary friendship - although both the demon and the angel would rather die than admit that was what it was- between the two immortals in the room, and Sam had a feeling that a man in a white van would soon make yet another decision that would come back to haunt him.

Sam quickly stalked away from Crowley as Cas and Dean started to walk over, studiously avoiding their eyes. He felt a small, quickly smothered pang of remorse, who was he to take the moral high ground with Cas when he himself had just put aside his morals in the pursuit of revenge?

But then, Sam had always known that he was no angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter went dark side real quick. But, it’s always darkest before the dawn.  
> The last chapter will be up soon. As always, thanks for sticking with me, and for your kudos and lovely comments!! You guys are the greatest :)


	7. Chapter 6: Part 2: Endgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale! Aka ‘all the feels’.

The trap was set, and Dean couldn’t wait for Metatron to show, not only because he wanted to see the bastard pay for what he’d done, but also because his three co-conspirators were driving him absolutely insane.

Sam and Cas had been staring at each other since they’d left the bunker, and Dean wished with a fervent intensity that they’d just say what they needed to say instead of mentally undressing each other, or whatever else was crackling in the air between them.

Dean shuddered. That was a mental image he could have done without. His only consolation was at least Cas had stopped staring at _him_ with those soulful eyes and switched his attention to Sam. An angel trying to figure out humanity from watching one Dean Winchester had always made the hunter very uncomfortable; he knew he wasn’t a poster child for the best humanity had to offer, that had always been his brother’s domain. However, if the stare Cas had used on him was even half as intense as the stare going on between the angel and Sam right now, Dean suddenly understood why everyone had always mistakenly thought he was the brother Cas had lusted after.

Dean cut that thought off at the knees, mentally switching gears to the other thorn in his ass, Crowley, who was also uncharacteristically silent. More than that, it was a strange, contemplative silence that Dean mistrusted far more than the King of Hell’s usual inability to keep his opinions to himself. Occasionally he caught Crowley watching him pensively, and Dean could almost see the cogs turning in the demon’s mind as he worked on whatever insane scheme he wanted to involve the poor, dumb humans in next. Probably something to do with Abaddon.

“One problem at a time,” he muttered to himself, wiping suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. He wasn’t sure where the sudden anxiety had come from, their plan was good, very good, and involved a minimum of involvement from Sam and Cas, which was lucky. He glanced at his brother again and sighed, there was no point kidding himself. He knew exactly what the source of his worry was.

Both the angel and his brother were haggard, pale, and trembling. Sweat dripped down Sam’s face, plastering his hair to his head, and Cas, well... Cas was coughing up blood and looked about as close to the threshold of death as someone could get without actually crossing over. Neither of them was in any condition to fight, not that anyone planned to take Metatron on in a head-on collision like Cas had done with Gadreel. No. This enemy required a much subtler touch, which was where Crowley came in.

Dean tore his attention away from his brother with difficulty, which made him realize that Cas and Sam’s staring competition was really about keeping each other alive through sheer force of will. It was a sobering thought, and Dean looked around the room in an attempt to distract himself.

Gadreel’s vessel had lived in a narrow two-story cottage, the top floor of which had clearly been the master bedroom, but now contained only wall-to-wall bookshelves and a solid wooden desk that held an antique typewriter and a pile of blank pages. Crowley was sitting in the comfortable office chair, swinging slightly from side to side, Sam and Cas were propped up against bookshelves on opposite sides of the room, and Dean was shackled in the manacles Crowley had been wearing several days previously. Dean grimaced as he remembered the unholy glee the demon had taken in shackling him, and how he’d viciously, and unnecessarily, yanked on the chain that he even now held in his hand.

Dean shifted around, the manacles clanking. Crowley glanced down and yanked cheerfully on the chain again, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘bad doggy.’

Dean was just indulging in a brief fantasy of punching Crowley in his smug mouth, preferably with a brick, when Cas lifted his head sharply, staring at the door. Everyone in the room tensed, except Crowley, who remained inscrutable.

It was game time.

           

The door opened and Metatron strolled in, a smug, condescending look on his face that made Dean itch to throw the subtle plan out the window and just get straight to the ass-kicking.

“So,” the short, gray-haired angel said, closing the door and leaning casually against it. “Gadreel is dead then.”

He looked to his left. “Sam,” he said with a nod. Sam narrowed his bloodshot eyes and shakily flipped the angel off. Metatron tsked, and looked to his right. “Ass-tiel,” he greeted Cas, who didn’t even acknowledge the angel’s presence; his eyes were rolled back in his head and blood dripped freely from his nose and ears. Dean tensed, willing Cas to hold on just a little bit longer.

Metatron walked another couple of casual steps into the room. His eyes skipped over Dean, a deliberate snub that raised the hunter’s hackles.

“Your Majesty,” Metatron said to Crowley, with a mocking bow. “I believe you’re in my chair.”

Crowley put his feet up on the desk with deliberate insolence. Metatron’s eyes narrowed as Crowley casually moved the typewriter out of the way with his foot.

“What do you want, demon?” he growled, his patience clearly at an end.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow, gesturing at Sam and Cas, and yanking much harder than necessary on the chain that held Dean, causing him to almost fall sideways. “I’m here to make a deal.”

Dean held his breath, hoping that Metatron’s arrogance would win out over his natural suspicion. Metatron frowned, looking at the three prisoners, his hand absently closing protectively over something hanging around his neck. Dean’s eyes widened and he quickly clamped down on his unconscious reaction, cursing himself for nearly giving the game away. He risked a glance at Sam, and saw his brother staring at the outline of the vial under Metatron’s shirt with a feral intensity. Dean let out a small, shaky breath. There were many possible stumbling blocks in their desperate plan, and Cas’s Grace had been the biggest one. They’d been almost certain that Metatron wouldn’t let the Grace out of his sight, but to see the outline of the vial around the would-be god’s neck was a relief greater than he would have thought possible.

Metatron snorted. “Two of your bargaining chips aren’t going to live through the next hour,” he said reasonably. “What use do I have for them?”

Crowley shrugged. “Heal them and torture them for information, or fun? Take a leaf out of Daddy’s book and put them in a cage for all time? Dress them in pretty pink dresses and have them serve you tea? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I have the Righteous Man, Michael’s intended vessel, here in chains. The other two are just a bonus. A token of goodwill.”

“And why would I want _him_?” Metatron asked, a venomous flick of his eyes towards Dean belying the casualness of his words.

“Because he killed Gadreel; horribly I might add. If he tortured and murdered one of the oldest warrior angels what do you think he’d do to you, a mere scribe? Besides, if you don’t make an example of the _human_ who killed your second-in-command, how long do you think the angels will follow you?”

Crowley smirked as the barb struck home, and Dean winced. They wanted Metatron angry, distracted, but not in a murderous rage. And like every weak-willed, insecure dictator in history, the one sure way to get under Metatron’s skin was to question his authority.

After a tense second Metatron got himself under control.

“All right,” he growled. “You’ve got my attention. Now, what do you want?”

“Abaddon,” Crowley said simply.

Metatron let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You don’t want much, do you?”

“She’s as much a thorn in your side as mine,” Crowley said, unperturbed, “and unlike Abaddon, I’ve proven I’m willing to negotiate.”

Metatron opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Dean leapt to his feet, yanking at the chain Crowley held.

“You son of a bitch!” he screamed. “That’s not what you’re supposed to ask for! You sold us out, you bastard!”

Dean leaped for Crowley, but Metatron flung him against the bookshelves with a contemptuous gesture, looking over at Sam quickly, expecting a flank attack, but turning back to Dean when he saw the hunter was already slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Crowley stood up, brushing down his suit with a casual indifference, as Dean struggled against the invisible wall holding him in place.

“Demon, remember?” Crowley smirked at him.

Metatron laughed. “Did you think to trick me, Dean Winchester? _Me_? Did you really think I wouldn’t have this house under surveillance? I saw the holy oil you poured around it, which, by the way, has been neutralized.”

“Lord, what fools these mortals be,” Crowley quoted, walking around the desk and leaning up against it. Metatron raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Crowley sniffed. “Where did you think Shakespeare got his talent from?” He looked over at Dean, who had been spitting vitriolic curses and threats that the demon and angel ignored, as if he were of no more consequence than a buzzing gnat.

“The Winchesters _have_ always been too cocky for their own good,” the demon added, conversationally. “But there’s one mistake they never make.”

“What’s that?” Metatron asked, distracted as he slammed Dean against the wall again vindictively.

“They don’t gloat until after the fight is over.”

With that the demon clicked his fingers and the room lit up in a flickering red glow, fire criss-crossing the floor.

Metatron just stood, uncomprehending.

“What is this?” he hissed.

“Your doom, Metatron,” Dean said, released from his place against the wall as the fire sprang up. Crowley arched an eyebrow.

“What?” Dean huffed. “I do, occasionally, enjoy a bit of gloating.”

The flames reflected in Metatron’s eyes, giving his visage an almost demonic cast. He looked at the floor, then across at Castiel, who had started laughing but just ended up coughing like his body was trying to expel a lung.

“How?” Metatron asked, his disbelief palpable.

“We weren’t sure where you’d stand,” Cas croaked from his prone position on the floor. “So we made a lot of tiny, random grooves in the floor, and while you were focused on Dean and Crowley, Sam and I poured holy oil in the channels,” he held out a shaking arm triumphantly, and Metatron blanched as he saw the bag of oil taped to the angel’s inner arm, which he promptly ripped off and threw away. “We knew you’d suspect a trap, so we made our other trap a bit more obvious and got Crowley to sell us out, figuring his duplicity would fit in better with your twisted world view.”

“Clever,” Metatron admitted. “There’s just one problem you haven’t accounted for.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked, casually twirling an angel blade in his fingers.

“You’re too late. Your brother’s already dead.”

           

Time seemed to slow down for Dean. He watched events unfold with a nightmarish sluggishness, although later on he would realise the time between Metatron’s announcement and his eventual reaction had been mere seconds. One thing that wasn’t diminished by his shock was Castiel’s raw and primal keen of anguish, a sound Dean knew would stay with him for the rest of his life. The naked agony in it was the worst thing the hunter had ever heard, it was like claws shredding his heart open; even Crowley flinched back visibly from the force of the cry.

Dean watched as Cas put his hand on the bookshelf, blowing up a few books with the very last traces of stolen grace, giving up the only thing holding him together for a few precious seconds as a human. A human who could cross the holy fire.

Dean didn’t know where Cas’s strength came from; with the unnatural clarity of his adrenaline high he could clearly see the light dying in his friend’s eyes as he flung himself bodily through the flames. Reaching out, the former angel grabbed the vial from Metatron, who was as shocked by the speed of Cas’s response as everyone else.

Dean held his breath, this was another weakness in their desperate plan, could Cas’s Grace cross the fire?

The answer was yes, and Cas fell to the floor next to Sam, pulling open the stopper of the vial, heedless of the savage burns covering his face and hands, and the cracking of a rib as he hit the ground with bone-shattering force.

Cas gasped, and Dean clearly heard the death rattle in his chest, saw the instant the former angel died… the exact instant that his Grace found its way back to where it belonged.

Dean added the next scene to the list of moments that would live with him forever. Previously Cas had only ever shown off his power occasionally, a deliberate act to intimidate or awe either Dean or an enemy. This was different. As Castiel’s Grace filled the angel white light exploded from him, and a sound filled the room that was so vast Dean had to hunker down with his hands over his ears to stop his eardrums from bursting. An instant later he realized what the sound was, it was every light bulb and window in the building blowing outwards, perhaps every light bulb and window in the suburb. A vicious wind howled around the room, and Dean worried simultaneously that the fire would blow out, or that the shredded remnants of books would fall in the flames and they’d all go up in an almighty conflagration.

And then he stopped worrying about anything, because at that moment the shadow of Castiel’s tattered wings covered the room, and Dean knew if he hadn’t already been on his knees he would have fallen to them in awe. For the first time Dean realized how much Cas held back in their presence, how much he protected them for the reality of his divinity.

Fortunately Crowley was not so easily awed, and had used his demonic influence to keep the fire alight and the books away from the flames. He looked unruffled, only the white-knuckled way he held the desk giving any indication of his true feelings.

Before the light had faded, or the wind died down, Cas slammed a hand down on Sam’s chest, his face contorted in an expression that was part agony, part grim determination. Sam’s back arched, and he let out a harsh gasp, his eyelids fluttering.

Cas bent over Sam’s form, whispered something in his ear, and placed his mouth over the hunter’s in a brutal kiss. As the elder Winchester finally found the strength to cry out, Cas slumped down on top of Sam, his vacant, staring eyes looking directly at Dean.

* * *

As Sam’s heart restarted Cas nearly wept with relief, but there was no time for that, no time for anything. His vessel had been badly damaged by the stolen Grace, by the fire, by the strain. He’d healed himself as quickly and brutally as he could, enough to begin Sam’s healing, but Sam was even more grievously injured than when Gadreel had first possessed him. Cas had only seconds before the hunter’s heart stopped again, this time for the last time; he didn’t have the strength to restart it again, not after just stepping back from death’s door himself. At least, not while he was still in his damaged vessel.

Cas leaned down. “Sam,” he whispered, “I need to heal you from the inside. Will you let me in?”

Sam groaned. Cas hesitated, feeling out with his Grace. After Sam’s previous blanket permission, it was close enough to a yes. He placed his mouth over Sam’s and willed his essence into his body, abandoning his vessel without a second thought.

As Cas took up residence inside Sam’s body the hunter fought him on a subconscious level; his fear and loathing of possession coming to the fore while his conscious mind was locked away, unable to cope with the pain. After losing a few critical seconds Cas felt his hopes fading; if he had to fight Sam every step of the way he wouldn’t be able to heal the hunter in time. Just as he was beginning to despair he felt something deep inside Sam, well below the level of conscious thought, recognize him and respond on a visceral level. Suddenly every barrier between them was gone, and Cas abruptly had access to everything that made Sam who he was, his mind, his body, his very soul.

Cas didn’t waste any time sorting through the implications of Sam’s unconscious capitulation; he had to work fast if he was to save the hunter. He only hoped that Dean and Crowley were able to take care of Metatron, because for the foreseeable future both Sam’s body and his vessel would be completely and utterly vulnerable to outside attack.

* * *

Dean finally broke free of his paralysis and was by his brother’s side in an instant. Leaning down he checked his pulse, it was weak, and thready, but there. After taking an instant to let the relief flood through him he quickly grabbed Cas’s wrist and performed the same check, to no avail. He felt a single treacherous tear trickle its way down his cheek, and wiped it away angrily.

“Cas, what have you done?” he whispered.

“Relax, Squirrel,” Crowley said, standing up. “Castiel is inside your precious brother, although maybe not in the way he was hoping for.”

Dean counted slowly to ten before standing up, mentally taking his anger at Crowley and refocusing it on Metatron.

“So, what now?” the scruffy gray-haired angel asked, his tone angering an already enraged Dean even further. “Torture me until I take you to the tablets? Force me to reopen the doors of Heaven?”

“With you gone, no one will be able to read the tablets anymore,” Crowley said, unconcerned. “Besides, I think you probably hid them in a library somewhere. A nice twist, to put the oldest books in the world in a public library. It’s just the sort of arrogant, self-aggrandizing thing that you’d do.”

Metatron blanched, although he tried to hide it, and Crowley smirked.

“So, what then? Torture? How cliché,” the angel sighed, the slight tremor in his voice belying the casualness of his words.

“Oh no. No no no. I have something else in mind for you, Metatron. Something much, much better,” Dean grinned, the flickering light of the holy fire reflected in his eyes. “Well, better for us anyway,” he amended, closing his eyes in a deliberate fashion. Metatron visibly started to panic as he suddenly realized what Dean intended, and the reality of his situation finally began to sink in.

“You can’t do this! Do you have any idea what they’ll do to me?”

Dean cracked one eye open, and thought about what Cas had told him about his fight with Gadreel. “Pretty much, yeah. Oh, by the way, just in case you were hoping someone loyal to you would show up first, they won’t. Your followers are otherwise occupied.”

Dean took a deep breath, and prayed. “Calling all angels, this is Dean Winchester. We have Metatron, and as a gesture of goodwill we’re handing the son of a bitch over to you. All we ask in return is that you bastards stop hunting us,” Dean rattled off the address, and smiled vindictively at Metatron, who was stalking around the perimeter of the flames, howling threats and imprecations.

Dean held out his wrists to Crowley, and after a long moment of hesitation that caused the hunter to break out in a cold sweat, the demon unlocked the manacles, then walked over and grabbed Cas’s vessel, lifting it into his arms with no more effort than a mother cat picking up its kitten. Dean did the same for Sam, the adrenaline giving him a strength he never knew he possessed. Ignoring the pleas and extortions coming from the other side of the flames the hunter turned to Crowley.

“Let’s get the hell outta Dodge.”

* * *

Cas was too busy for a long time, and Sam was too sick, to realize exactly what an intimate position they were in. After an indeterminate amount of time Cas felt Sam’s conscious mind stir, and realized exactly how close to disaster they’d just come. Hurriedly he slammed the doors to his memories shut before they could bleed into Sam’s consciousness. The human brain was simply not capable of dealing with eons of memories; the input of that much information, particularly the knowledge of Heaven, would overload a mortal mind in seconds. But Sam had no such defenses against Cas.

 “Sorry, Cas,” Sam whispered in his mind, as a torrent of images he couldn’t control flooded the angel’s perception. He saw flashes of Sam’s memories, all the times he’d been talking to Dean or on a hunt with the brothers, how Sam had stared at him, filled with love, longing, and an intense grief for something he thought could never be. Some of the memories stood out brighter than others, like their hunt for Famine, where Sam’s addiction to demon blood had been the only thing that had stopped him from pinning Cas to a wall and taking him where he stood.

Shame colored that memory and Cas sighed.

“If I, an Angel of the Lord, couldn’t stop myself from eating an entire fast food restaurant’s worth of burgers, what makes you think you could have fought Famine’s influence? Besides, you could no more have forced yourself on me than you could have moved a mountain.”

Cas felt that memory heal into a scar, and wondered suddenly if he couldn’t do more here than simply heal Sam’s body.

 As more and more guilty memories poured out he opened himself enough that Sam felt his forgiveness, his acceptance; and felt something in Sam that was wound very tightly, and hidden very deeply, start to relax.

Cas had been so distracted by his healing of Sam that he didn’t notice the hunter widening the link, didn’t feel his own sadness slip out until it was too late.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Sam asked, worry coloring his mental voice.

Cas knew Sam would sense an evasion immediately; there was no way to hide, not with their minds so closely linked. And besides, an evasion was a good as a lie, and Cas had promised Sam that he would never to lie to him again.

“The fight with Gadreel,” Cas whispered. “You said it wasn’t who I am. But you only said that because you thought the darkness in me was a result of my time as a human. But it wasn’t. That violence, that indifference to suffering… it’s part of being an angel.”

Sam was silent for a second, and Cas deliberately didn’t read his thoughts, worried about what he’d see.

“Are you sure about that, Cas?” Sam asked, eventually, and Cas felt a memory thrust upon him, a very recent one colored with a defiant sort of guilt. Cas watched the memory of Sam making his request of Crowley, saddened that the hunter had stained his hands because of his stupidity, but also fiercely proud that Sam cared enough about him to want retribution on his attacker. He felt Sam’s surprise at his response, and gave a mental shrug.

“If someone had hurt you, Sam, I would have done a lot worse than put the King of Hell on their trail,” he said, letting the truth of that statement bleed through the link between them. “In fact, I did do worse.”

Cas could feel Sam building up an argument in his mind.

“Hush, Sam,” he said gently. “Think on it no more. _Praeteritum est praeteritum_. The past is past. It’s the future we need to worry about now.” He deliberately withdrew from the conversation, putting more of his energy into healing the hunter’s body, although images continued to bleed through the link between them.

Gradually Cas became aware of something else behind Sam’s bittersweet memories of their shared history, a dark, malign cancer at the edge of perception, the lurking presence of memories from Sam’s time in the Cage. He reached out with his mind, to take those memories and make them his own, to know and experience the worst of Sam’s life as well as the best. But Sam blocked him with a force Cas wouldn’t have believed possible. A wall as strong and as hard as diamond appeared around those memories, and Cas could clearly feel Sam’s unspoken resolve; ‘ _Stop, Cas. What happened between your brother and I, it’s not something I can, or will, share willingly._ ’

Cas gave ground immediately, but putting up the wall had distracted Sam enough that other thoughts flowed across the link between them. Cas was amused because the harder Sam tried to keep a lid on those thoughts, the more they spilled through. The angel saw image upon image of Sam’s fantasies about him, the years of pent-up desire and passion finding an outlet in his imagination. One in particular replayed over and over, clearly a fantasy Sam had indulged in many times. It was Cas, sometimes in the bunker, sometimes in the Impala, sometimes in a motel room, taking Sam by the hand and pulling him to him in a tender kiss, gently wrapping his wings around them. Cas was amused by the wings, they looked nothing like his own, but that small detail in no way diminished the power of the fantasy. He could feel the longing Sam felt to share as much of Cas’s true self as he was allowed, and he allowed himself a selfish moment to bask in Sam’s admiration.

Cas saw himself then as Sam saw him, a perfect being, the epitome of everything Sam wanted, noble, compassionate, divine in every sense of the word. He saw the insatiable desire Sam held for him, not for his vessel, although Sam certainly appreciated it, but for _him_. As soon as he registered Sam’s longing the fantasy turned from slow and sweet to intense and passionate, as the fantasy Cas tore the clothes from Sam and they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Sam was completely mortified and kept apologizing as image after image escaped his control, but Cas was hypnotized by the tableau in front of him. The angel was overcome by emotion, he had known Sam loved him, but only as an abstract; here, _feeling_ that love, it was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced. For the first time in his long millennia he felt what it was to be truly, completely, and unconditionally loved, and it took his metaphorical breath away. As he watched the scene unfold a longing as intense as anything he’d ever felt shot through him, and he mentally shook himself.

Knowing he couldn’t continue to be so distracted during the healing process he soothed Sam with a phantom touch, a caress of the mind that was far more intimate than anything physical would have been. Carefully, making sure he didn’t accidently take control of Sam in any way, which would have been an unforgivable breach of trust, the angel built an image for them to talk in, a focus for the barrage of unconnected thoughts. A special place.

 

Abruptly they were both standing on the bluffs where Sam had taken him to watch the sunset. Cas, or the part of Cas that wasn’t busily putting the hunter back together one cell at a time, sat on the park bench, and gestured for Sam to join him. The hunter didn’t respond immediately, and Cas shivered at the look in his eyes.

In this focused space Cas felt Sam as clearly as he saw him, felt every little rush of emotion, every one of the flickering thoughts that passed so quickly Sam wasn’t even aware of them as separate ideas, just as the background hum that was part of every human mind. In a blink of an eye the human brain had thousands of thoughts, but Cas had a much greater capacity to hear those thoughts as separate entities, and he caught Sam’s like precious gems.

‘ _My God, he’s beautiful_.’

‘ _I love him, oh fuck, I love him so much! I can’t lose him. I’d die. I’d die without him.’_

_‘Oh hell, he’s seen my thoughts, what must he think of me?’_

_‘Will he ever love me?_ ’

‘ _He shouldn’t love me, I’m the boy with demon blood, and he’s an Angel. He’s perfect. Pure. Untouchable. Glorious. And I’m not. Not even close.’_

_‘Oh God, I can’t help myself!’_

_‘Everything. He is everything to me_.’

The emotion behind those thoughts at such close proximity almost overwhelmed Cas, and he felt his control on his Grace slip a little, and saw Sam, or the representation of Sam, widen his eyes. Quickly he reined it in, he had to be careful, very, _very_ careful. Seeing his true form in the physical world would kill Sam, seeing it in his mind would send him mad.

Sam sat down on the bench while Cas fought himself back under control, surprised by how much harder it was since his time as a human. Presumably that was one of the reasons angels were as unfeeling as they were, immense power and a lack of control brought on by spiraling emotions could be a potentially disastrous combination.

“How’s it looking?” Sam asked, unaware just how much he’d revealed himself to the angel a moment before. Cas allowed himself to fully feel Sam’s body for a second, noting a few things for future reference.

“You’re almost healed,” he finally said, channeling a bit more power into Sam, feeling the dreamscape he’d woven wobble a little. It was mostly true, but the power Cas had had to use just to stabilize Sam had been immense, the hunter had been at the very threshold of death, and death had been keen to pull the Winchester across that line. He would be weak for a while yet.

“Good,” Sam sighed. “In that case Cas, I need something else from you.”

Cas turned to look at Sam, and felt the request before it was voiced, and the reason behind it. Sam hadn’t been as unaware of the very secret, very private thoughts Cas had been receiving as he’d thought.

“Cas, I’m more grateful than you’ll ever know, but some things are meant to be said out loud, in their own time,” Sam said, leaning across to kiss him. It was a slow, tender kiss, made all the more meaningful because of the naked emotions that accompanied it. Sam pulled back, and Cas looked into his eyes, readying himself for what was to come.

“Cas,” Sam said, gently. “It’s time for you to leave.”

The angel felt the power of those words throw him from Sam’s body with extreme prejudice. He floated for a moment, in between vessels, feeling the loss of Sam’s mind as keenly as a severed limb, before returning to the familiarity of Jimmy Novak’s form.

 

Sam awoke and looked around, blinking in surprise. He was in the backseat of the Impala, Cas’s head in his lap, and Dean was just parking the car in the underground garage. After checking that Cas was waking up as well, he looked up and met his brother’s eyes in the mirror.

“Metatron?” he croaked, through a throat that felt as dry and parched as a desert. Dean quirked an eyebrow and rummaged around in the front, handing a water bottle back to him. Sam grabbed it and chugged it gratefully.

“Slow down, Sam, you’ll make yourself sick,” Dean chided, his voice light, but Sam could see the pent-up anxiety in the paleness of his face, and the deepening lines around his mouth and eyes. Dean looked like he’d been to Hell and back, again, and Sam felt a sudden stab of remorse.

“While you two were lazing around, Crowley and I sorted out that bastard,” Dean said, opening the car door. “When the angels get hold of him, I think we can safely say they’ll be too busy fighting among themselves to bother with us for a while.”

“We’ll see,” Cas said pensively, sitting up. Sam could feel the angel’s eyes burning a hole in him, so he made himself busy getting out of the car and walking towards the door, embarrassed by everything he’d revealed.

He’d only gone two steps when Dean cleared his throat, and Sam turned around questioningly.

“So,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of embarrassment, or uncertainty. “I’m ah… I’m going to go meet back up with Crowley, see if we can get started on this Abaddon thing. You two… get some rest.”

As Dean reached for the car door, his shoulders slumped imperceptibly, a posture of sadness that only a brother would notice, Sam felt something inside him break.

“Dean!” he called out. His brother turned to look at him enquiringly. Sam didn’t quite know how to express his forgiveness, Dean had always found talking about emotions too ‘girly.’ So instead Sam expressed it in the best way he knew how.

“When you get back, you can cook us some burgers, and I’ll go out and buy a pie.”

A moment of understanding passed between them and Dean smiled the first real, genuine smile Sam had seen on his face for a long time.

“Sammy, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

The first thing Sam did when he got inside was head for the shower, then to bed. When he woke up several hours later it was to see Cas sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him with intense blue eyes.

“Been there long, Cas?” Sam asked, feeling suddenly and profoundly vulnerable under the angel’s penetrating gaze.

Cas shrugged and looked away, only to look back almost immediately, as though unable to stop himself.

They stared at each other for several seconds, and surprisingly it was Cas who broke the silence.

“I saw,” he started, then stopped, suddenly hesitant. “I saw what you wanted, Sam. I’d like to give it to you. If… if you’d like.”

Sam felt his heart rate increase a thousand fold. There were several things Cas could have been talking about, but he had a feeling he knew which one the angel meant.

“You’d share that much of yourself with me, Cas?” Sam forced out past the clog of emotion in his throat.

“I’d share it all with you, Sam, if I could,” Cas said sadly, and Sam felt his heart soar, before it plummeted at the look in the angel’s eyes.

“What is it, Cas?” he asked gently.

“My wings aren’t what they used to be,” Cas said, unhappily. “My… fall… from grace has damaged them.” The expression on Cas’s face at those words nearly broke Sam’s heart, he knew that the loss of his wings had been devastating to the angel; he couldn’t imagine what having them back, but damaged, would be like.

“Show me then,” he said softly. “Let me be the judge of what is beautiful and what is not.”

The angel looked up at him through his lashes, and for the first time Sam caught a glimpse of the being who sheltered inside the meat suit that had been Jimmy Novak, a fleeting look at something ancient, something beautiful and incomprehensible, before Cas’s mask slipped back into place. It was like a shot of a drug, Sam wanted more than anything to know the real Castiel, not just what he chose to share with the mortals in his charge.

The angel looked away again, and Sam sat up on the bed next to him, taking a hand gently in his own.

“What are you afraid of, Cas?”

The angel stood up and turned to face Sam fully. He had his serious face on, the one where his eyes seemed to blaze through Sam and see into his very soul. Sam repressed a shiver, knowing that Cas was feeling vulnerable enough that he would take it as fear instead of desire.

“Are you sure, Sam?” Cas asked seriously. “It might be…difficult for you. Humans don’t generally like things that are different from themselves.”

Sam thought very seriously about taking offense to that statement, but he’d seen enough of the world to know that the angel had a point.

“Don’t you know me better than that by now?” he asked instead, standing so he was looking down into Cas’s eyes. “Cas, you’ve been inside my mind, seen right down to my soul. You know there is nothing, _nothing_ that could make me turn away from you.”

Cas stayed staring into his eyes, for longer than a human would have found comfortable, while Sam waited patiently until the angel had seen what he needed to see. Cas nodded sharply, held out a hand, and when Sam took it started walking to the bedroom door.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked, puzzled.

A small smile lit Cas’s face, the one that Sam always thought of as his ‘humans are so adorable’ smile. The angel looked around at the ceiling and the walls in a deliberate fashion.

“I am not a cherub,” he said with a snort of almost-contempt. Sam looked around the sizeable bedroom in surprise, and quickly readjusted his mental image of Cas’s wings. After a moment Cas tugged impatiently at his hand, and they walked to the bunker’s main room in silence.

When they reached their destination Cas let go of his hand and stood in the center of the room. He quickly pulled off his coat, tie, and shirt, the human way, folding them neatly on the back of a chair. Sam wondered why Cas didn't just mojo his clothes away, then realized with a start that the angel was probably buying himself time, trying to get up the courage to show Sam a part of himself that maybe no human had seen outside of shadows on the wall.

Cas turned his back for a moment, and Sam closed the distance between them in a couple of steps, snaking his arms around the angel. He knew Cas had felt him coming, there was no point trying to sneak up on the angel, his supernatural hearing, and other senses Sam could only guess at, precluded sneaking. But Cas allowed himself to be pulled back against Sam’s chest, leaning into the touch with a sigh.

They stayed that way for a moment.

"Step back, Sam,” Cas instructed gently. Sam reluctantly let go, crossing the room to stand by the wall.

Cas turned to face him, a peculiar look in his eyes, the one Sam associated with the angel’s disappearing trick. But instead of Cas vanishing, the room was suddenly filled with feathers.

Sam felt his mouth drop open involuntarily. The angel’s wings were huge; they only just fit in the enormous main area of the bunker. They were midnight black, the most magnificent thing Sam had ever seen, and also the most heartbreaking. Because Cas’s wings weren’t whole, not by a long shot. There were huge, gaping holes where feathers had been burned away, and the wing on Cas’s left side hung at an odd angle, not tall and proud like the wing on his right side. As Sam watched still more charred and broken feathers fell silently to the ground, littering the floor.

As he stood stock still, completely awestruck, he felt the angel’s eyes on him like a lead weight. With a supreme effort of will he dragged his gaze from the wings, and looked into eyes that contained a grief so profound it was like a punch in the guts.

Sam wanted to go to Cas, but he was rooted to the spot. His human brain couldn’t comprehend the broken majesty of the creature before him; he felt like he was seeing Castiel properly for the first time, in all his inhuman glory, and it made his legs go weak. Involuntarily he fell to his knees, overcome.

He saw the confusion and anxiety on Cas’s face, and it was such a human emotion that Sam finally found the strength to speak.

 “Cas… _Castiel_ , you’re… _so beautiful!_ ”

A number of other conflicting, and very human, emotions chased themselves across Cas’s face, relief, vulnerability, amusement, sadness. He turned from Sam to look unhappily at his left wing.

“In Heaven I had six wings,” he said softly. Sam tensed. Cas never spoke about his life as an angel, except as it pertained to whatever evil they were facing at the time. Sam didn’t know if it was forbidden for the angels to reveal things about their immortal lives or if Cas simply didn’t like to be reminded of what he’d lost. Every time Sam had tried to draw him out on the subject he’d been met by silence and a wary, almost angry look that had prevented him from prying further.

“They were beautiful then. Although not as beautiful as Gabriel’s, his wings outshone the sun itself.” A different kind of grief twisted Cas’s face then, a grief Sam knew all too well, the grief for a fallen brother. “Now the wings I have left are just tattered remnants. I can’t fly. Sam, _I can’t fly!_ What use is an angel without his wings?”

Sam was at Cas’s side in an instant, holding him gently, careful not to touch the broken wings without permission. He felt Cas let out a soft sob, just one, before he was leaning back, his usual, impervious angel mask back in place.

“Can I…” Sam swallowed and started again. “Is there anything I can do? Cas, one of your wings is _broken_ , we should splint it at the very least.” A thought occurred to him. “That must hurt like hell. Can’t you heal them?”

Cas blinked up at Sam, and he realized he’d asked a stupid question. If the angel could have healed himself he would already have done so.

“They can only be healed in Heaven,” Cas said, as though stating something very obvious. Sam winced. “But...” Cas looked down and away, a gesture of embarrassment that was becoming as familiar to Sam as his own body, “it would be nice to have some human healing. Like you did for my shoulder.”

Sam breathed in deeply, and stepped back. His initial awe had faded to manageable levels and he was able to look at the wings with a critical eye, gauging the severity of the damage. Sam was no doctor, but between him and Dean they’d stitched each other up enough times that assessing injuries was second nature to both of them. He reached out to run a hand gently along the most damaged wing, to feel how bad the breaks were, but Cas flinched backwards. Sam immediately let his hand drop to his side.

Cas blushed as Sam looked at him askance.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his gravelly voice huskier than usual. “It’s not usual for us to touch each other's wings.”

“Personal space issues, Cas?” Sam teased gently.

Cas looked surprised, then smiled slightly, amusement replacing the wary look.

“Maybe,” he said. Then, “Go ahead. I want you to.”

“Are you sure, Cas?”

The angel nodded, and Sam reached out again, keeping his eyes on Cas’s to watch for signs of discomfort. He felt more than saw the angel repress another flinch as his hand made contact with the feathers, and he kept his hand quite still until Cas had settled a little, a strange look in his eyes.

“Is this ok, angel?” Sam asked gently. Cas nodded, turning his head to watch as Sam gently ran his fingers as far along the length of the wing as he could reach.

 

Cas held his breath as Sam walked behind him to get a better look at his injuries. He stood as still as possible, but inside he was a fury of emotions. Sam had said he was beautiful, even though his wings were charred and damaged. That had caused his heart to sing, and a strange but undeniable pride to flood through him. On the other hand, the agony of the breaks and burns was somehow far more immediate and real in the mortal plane, and Cas was distraught. He hadn’t looked too closely at his wings since regaining his Grace, afraid of what he’d see, and it was almost as bad as his worst imaginings. If he couldn’t get them restored in Heaven he might never fly again, doomed to travel the world the way the humans did, in cars and buses and trains. It was unthinkable.

And then all thoughts of doom and gloom were gone as Sam started to card his hands through his plumage, grooming out the damaged and charred feathers. Cas felt his back arch involuntarily in pleasure, and felt Sam pause, uncertain if he’d hurt him.

“Don’t stop!” Cas hissed, and then sighed as Sam resumed his work, feeling the hunter’s grin in the way his fingers went from business-like to teasing; carding out broken feathers in between gentle, playful caresses.

It felt good to share this part of himself with Sam. He’d been worried the hunter would react badly to seeing the part of his true self it was safe to reveal, but he should have trusted that Sam would never reject him.

Just as he thought that, he felt the hunter move away.

“Where are you going, Sam?” he asked, hating the lilt of anxiety that colored his voice. He heard Sam come back, and sighed a little as the hunter placed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“I’m just going to get a splint, some bandages, and some burn cream, Cas. I won’t be long.”

Cas shuddered when Sam didn’t move away immediately, but placed another kiss between his shoulder blades, this one not reassuring and playful, but full of heat, a promise of things to come. The hunter licked his way up to Cas’s neck, and scraped his teeth over his shoulder, running his lips back down to the join between shoulder blade and wing. Sam mouthed at the joint, and the feeling of Sam’s teeth and tongue caused Cas to wriggle and hiss with pleasure. And then, with a grin that Cas felt against his back, and another light kiss, Sam left to get the medical supplies.

Cas smiled to himself. If that was Sam’s reaction to seeing his wings, he might never hide them away again.

* * *

Sam had gotten Cas to sit on the table so he could stand on it and reach without Cas having to fold his wings too far. He got down off the table and walked around in front to check his work. He bit his lip to keep from either laughing or crying, he wasn’t sure which. The angel looked like nothing so much as a beautiful, deadly bird of prey after a hunting accident, his enormous, glorious wings were swathed in bandages and cream, the charred and broken feathers removed so only glossy black remained. His left wing was supported with splints at the proper angle, but it was the look in Cas’s eyes that had Sam smiling. The angel looked as grumpy as he’d ever seen him, sitting hunched over, staring at the ground and muttering something in a language Sam didn’t recognize. Sam thought someone should paint the angel like this, his flashing blue eyes, his bandaged wings, his bare chest, all a picture of magnificence and wounded dignity.

“And you say I brood too much!” he said with a little laugh. Cas shot him a look of pure malevolence that thawed into a tentative smile. Seeing that smile, the little upturn of the lips that Cas seemed to save just for him, Sam felt something in the mood of the room shift, and felt his body stir in response.

 

Cas watched Sam out of the corner of his eyes; saw the moment Sam’s intentions turned from compassion to desire. He felt a tension ripple through his body, he wanted Sam, wanted him with a single-minded intensity that almost shocked him.

Something in his expression must have tipped Sam off to his thoughts because the hunter faltered in his steps, his eyes going wide.

“Castiel…” he breathed, and Cas shivered. The hunter had said his name like a prayer, and Cas had _felt_ the punch of emotion behind it, the staggering love and longing.

He was suddenly reminded of something that had been bothering him for a while.

“You’ve prayed to me before,” Cas said, leaving the sentence hanging.

Sam stopped, confused. “Yes?” he asked tentatively. “So?”

“How did you keep your feelings from me?”

Sam laughed, and it was a sound that contained so much bitterness Cas almost flinched.

“Would you have recognized it even if you’d felt it, Cas?” Sam asked. “No, that’s not fair, sorry. I only ever called on you when we had much bigger things on our minds.” He paused, grinning. “Although, there were a couple of near misses when I almost prayed to you by accident.”

Cas frowned, and Sam waggled his eyebrows suggestively. The angel blushed, suddenly understanding. And then Sam was suddenly right up against Cas, standing between his legs where he still sat on the table. The musky smell of the hunter was abruptly all around him, and Cas was staring straight into eyes that were black with desire. Sam leaned a little closer and Cas felt his vessel’s heart go into overdrive. Nothing mattered anymore except Sam’s lips on his, his hands on his body.

“I think we have some unfinished business,” the hunter murmured. Cas swallowed, nodding eagerly. Sam pulled back, and Cas whimpered.

“But, before we begin, let’s do a quick check,” Sam said, smirking. “No uninvited guests?”

Cas shook his head, amused.

“Good. Now, are we both healthy? Or at least, not in imminent danger of dying?”

Cas nodded, his smile growing.

“Excellent. Now, phones off. The last thing we want is a panicked phone call from Dean because aliens are invading or the Leviathans are back or some shit.”

Quickly both the hunter and the angel grabbed their phones. Sam turned his off, while Cas simply crushed his in his fist into tiny electronic pieces that fell like confetti to the floor.

 

Sam raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting. The casual strength of Cas’s grip made Sam appreciate just how careful the angel was being with him. Sam reached out a hand, and trailed his fingers gently down Cas’s cheek. “Ok, baby?” he asked, seeing a small hesitation in the angel’s eyes. That hesitation quickly turned to amusement, and Sam blushed. “You don’t like that? I can find another name.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, considering. “No, I like it. I just have never understood why people have different names for each other. To me, I am just Castiel, but because of you and Dean I’ve started to think of myself as ‘Cas.’ And it’s not just humans. Gabriel called me ‘Cassie,’ and Crowley…” Cas grimaced in distaste, letting the sentence trail off.

Sam laughed. “Yes, Crowley does have the worst taste in nicknames.”

Cas smiled a small smile. “I never understood why he calls you ‘Moose.’ You are nothing like a moose.”

Sam smiled. “It’s from a … never mind. What am I like, then, Cas?”

Cas thought for a minute. “A panther,” he said, decisively. “Long, and lean, and sleek. Beautiful. Powerful.”

Sam leaned down to kiss Cas, trying to hide how pleased he was with the angel’s description. He pulled back.

“Let’s just stick to ‘Sam’, shall we?”

Cas smiled. “Yes. Sam. It’s how I think of you. My Sam.”

           

Cas didn’t know what he’d said, but Sam suddenly was no longer holding back. The hunter crushed Cas to him, his mouth finding the angel's with what should have been bruising intensity, but was instead a slow, sweet, sensual kiss that had Cas’s head spinning. The gentle touch of Sam’s tongue to his, the way he kissed him like there was no need for anything else, like he could stay there all day, melted the angel to a puddle of messy emotions. He stopped controlling his vessel, allowing it to feel what it needed to, and his body responded instantly. Cas whined, trying to pull Sam closer, the few clothes that still separated them suddenly maddening.

When Sam eventually broke their kiss in order to catch his breath Cas prepared to blast their clothes into atoms, since it was the fastest way to get undressed. But Sam must have felt his intent, because he shook his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“No, Cas. We have all the time in the world, at last. Let’s take our time.”

"Can I do one thing?” Cas asked. Sam regarded him curiously.

“I can’t stop you, Cas,” he said with a grin. “What did you have in mind?”

“Already done,” Cas said, smugly, indicating to the left with a jerk of his chin. Sam looked over and laughed. Cas looked too, pleased with himself. A large king-sized bed, with silk sheets and plenty of pillows, lay where the lounge furniture had been moments before.

“Where did you… no, don’t tell me,” Sam said still laughing. Cas smiled.

He might not be able to taste peanut butter and jelly anymore, but being an angel had its plus sides too.

 

Sam wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, lifting him carefully off the table, so the angel’s legs were wrapped around his waist. He knew Cas could have had them both in the bed in a blink, but he desperately wanted to take his time, to lavish every possible moment of affection, care, and love on the angel. The past weeks had been hard for Cas in a way Sam could barely comprehend, and whether he knew it or not, when Cas had been in his mind Sam had felt glimpses of the angel’s suffering. He intended to erase as much of that pain as could through his love.

When he reached the bed he set the angel down gently, arranging him so he was sitting against the headboard, his wings free of hindrance. Cas passively allowed Sam to fuss over him, and Sam realized that Cas was just as keen to slowly enjoy their first time together without an imminent crisis.

Sam stood by the bed and took his shirt off, suddenly feeling something incredibly soft trailing down his spine. He looked over to see that Cas had curled his unbroken wing around, and was gently stroking his back. Sam shivered in pleasure, and a small, pleased smile graced Cas’s kiss-swollen lips. As Sam gazed into Cas's eyes he saw a playful sort of determination, and as the silky-soft wing continued to caress him he knew his angel was remembering the fantasy he had seen in his mind. Sam would have blushed, if what he was about to do wasn’t a hundred times more blasphemous than what he’d imagined in his head.

Apparently he’d taken too long savoring the moment, because a fleeting expression of glee crossed Cas’s face, and the soft caress of a wing turned to an inexorable push towards the bed. Sam got the hint, and crawled across the silky sheets until he was straddling the angel. Although there were several layers of clothes still between them he could feel Cas responding, and his own body stirred in response.

He looked at the angel in wonder. Cas’s piercing blue eyes gazed back at him, his hair was messy and disheveled, and his face had that slightly alien cast to it that Sam associated with Castiel, the Angel of the Lord. The feathers of Cas’s wings trailed across the sheets, the remnants of his midnight plumage glossy again after Sam’s tender care. Here was everything Sam had ever dreamed of, and he had to fight not to pinch himself, afraid that if he did he'd wake up and discover that this was all just a fever dream.

As Sam gazed at him, unable to look away, Cas reached out a hand, his fingers trailing gently down Sam’s chest. The angel's hand was hotter than a human hand would be, and his fingers left a slightly staticky feeling behind them, as if the angelic light inside him burned just under the skin. Sam shivered under the touch, arching his back in pleasure, and the angel tilted his head slightly to the side, as though memorizing every little reaction of his body. Cas continued his gentle assault, running his thumbs gently over Sam’s nipples, sending little shock-waves of pleasure through the hunter until he felt like his very bones were melting.

"Maybe you didn't bring me back, maybe I stayed dead and this is Heaven," Sam didn't realize he'd said those words out loud until he heard Cas huff out a shocked laugh.

"Heaven was never this good," Cas whispered, running his hands lower, until they were resting on the waistband of Sam's pants.

Sam leaned over and captured Cas's bottom lip, nibbling gently, effectively stopping Cas from running his hands any lower. As the angel began to melt against him, he leaned forward a bit more, capturing his earlobe. As Sam felt Cas’s arms come around him, he ran his hands down the angel’s shoulders, and then further back, running his fingers gently through soft feathers. Cas sighed in pleasure, bucking upwards, and Sam grinned, back in control. He increased the pressure of his hands until he was tugging gently but firmly on the feathers, biting down at the junction between Cas’s neck and his shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Sam!” Cas hissed, writhing with pleasure, his hands now back at Sam’s waist, trying to grind their hips together. Hectic color touched his cheeks, and his breathing was almost ragged, although Sam knew the angel had no reason to breathe any more. Sam smirked, pleased by this indication that Cas was starting to lose some of the control he held over his vessel. Just as that thought occurred to him the angel finally lost patience, mojoing away the last of the clothing still separating them. The hunter groaned as his rock-hard erection was suddenly rubbing against Cas’s, and the angel let out a sound that was so sinful Sam had to fight not to come right then and there. He wondered if the angel knew how much that husky sandpaper tone affected him. Looking into Cas’s bright blue eyes, he had the feeling that he did.

“Cas,” Sam groaned, fighting to keep still and coherent. “You need to bring back my pants, there’s something in the pocket that I need.”

“This?” Cas asked playfully, opening his left hand and producing a bottle of lube, another smile of amusement lighting his features. Sam loved that he could make Cas smile, he did it so rarely, and it was a beautiful smile, full of an innocent sort of joy.

Sam leaned down to kiss his smiling angel, pouring lube into his hands, reaching between them to grasp Cas’s cock in his hand, then reaching behind, to prepare himself for the angel.

“What are you doing, Sam?” Cas asked, frowning.

“I don’t think I care to explain that,” Sam said primly.

Cas rolled his eyes, a gesture he’d picked up from either Sam or Dean, the brothers had never been sure which. “I might be innocent in the ways of the flesh, but I am not ignorant of the mechanics,” Cas said, matching Sam’s prim tone. “I meant,” he added, a more vulnerable note creeping into his voice, “don’t you want me?”

Sam put down the bottle, grabbing Cas’s hands, and twinning their fingers together. “More than anything,” he said seriously, “but it’s your first time, and I want you to have this, to have me. And I need it too, I thought I’d lost you today. I need to feel you, Cas.”

“You would give yourself to me?” Cas asked, a strange look in his eyes.

“Yes,” Sam breathed, “Yes, Cas. Always. Forever.”

Something happened then that Sam didn’t expect. Cas suddenly took control, pulling the hunter to him, his wings wrapping around them, and positioned Sam on his lap with obvious intent.

“Cas, wait…” Sam said, breathlessly. The angel stilled.

“I won’t hurt you, Sam,” Cas said, intently. “I never… I never imagined I could have this. Someone who loves me. That was never my fate. I never even knew that was what I wanted, what I _needed_. I was so alone. Until you, Sam. Until you and your beautiful soul. I won’t hurt you, Sam. I’ll never hurt you. Do you understand that?”

Sam knew his mouth had fallen open, it was possibly the most he’d ever heard Cas say at one time, and the emotion behind the words was like a punch in the guts. Dumbly he nodded, and Cas pulled him into a kiss, using his angel mojo to slide Sam slowly, oh so slowly, down the length of his cock. Sam gasped, he’d only slept with men a few times in college, and he’d forgotten how strange it felt to be stretched and filled in this way. But Cas was gentle, and it didn’t hurt, not that Sam would have cared if it did.

As Sam became fully seated, Cas let out that bone-melting moan again, and the hunter shivered. He looked deeply into Cas’s glazed eyes, and seeing that the angel was completely lost to the sensation Sam regained a measure of control over the situation, and began to move.

 

As Cas stared into Sam’s eyes, the feeling of tight heat almost overwhelming him, he clamped down on his Grace with an iron will, afraid of letting himself go too much and blinding Sam, or worse. He rustled his wings in agitation, panting and moaning, feeling his Grace writhe within him, the white-hot pleasure nearly overpowering.

Sam had an intense look in his eyes, a look that seared Cas to his very core. He let out another whimper and Sam slowed his rhythm for a moment, capturing his lips with his own.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” Sam whispered. “I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go, you’ll never be alone again.”

Cas felt something inside him break at those words, and he looked deep into the eyes that shone with such passion and adoration. He shifted them so he was hitting Sam’s prostate at exactly the right angle; a benefit of having rebuilt Sam cell by cell was an intimate knowledge of the workings of his body. Sam arched his back and moaned with pleasure, and Cas grasped the hunter’s cock in his hand, pumping it in time to their rhythm. Sam reached out and grabbed his unbroken wing, and the pleasure that shot through Cas from having such an intimate part of his essence touched almost tipped him over the edge. He moaned, and Sam stared intently into his eyes, as though trying to see through the human mask to the true being that lay underneath.

“Castiel… love… come for me, baby,” Sam panted. “Oh fuck, Cas, _Castiel!_ ”

“ _Sam_ ,” he only just had time to moan, before riding a wave of pleasure so intense he thought if he were still human it might have killed him. That sent Sam over the edge as well, and for a long moment there was no space for anything between them except love and ecstasy.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Sam panted eventually. “You’re so goddamn beautiful Cas, I can hardly stand it. Watching you come apart like that…” Sam broke off mid-sentence, leaning down to rest his forehead against Cas’s, his brow sweat-slicked and his breathing ragged. Cas thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his long, long life.

“I love you, Sam Winchester,” Cas whispered. “Angel or human, it doesn’t matter. I have never loved before, and I never will again. There is only you, Sam. I will love you until the last star in the last galaxy burns itself out. And beyond that.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Cas couldn’t name the expression on his face, only that it caused his heart to cramp painfully in his chest. Tentatively Sam reached out a hand, and gently, reverently, stroked it down his face. Cas leaned into the touch.

“Cas,” Sam started, then stopped, swallowing hard, as though fighting back tears. “Castiel, I love you too. I am so in love with you, and have been since the first moment I saw you. You are everything to me, _everything_. Even in Hell I loved you, clung to your memory like a lifeline. I am yours, Cas. I always have been. I always will be.”

Cas heard the words, but more, he _felt_ them, Sam hadn’t just been saying the words out loud, he’d been _praying_. Cas’s heart exploded, and he just had time to place his hand firmly over Sam’s eyes as his Grace sprang to life, bathing the room in a blinding white light. Cas had never felt anything like it, it was like his very essence had reacted to Sam’s words, and there was nothing he could do to control it. So he held Sam to him, protecting him, wrapping his wings around him as they rode out the storm together.

When it had passed, Cas felt wrung-out and shaky. Sam firmly gripped his wrist and pulled his hand away from his eyes, staring down at him. Cas looked away, ashamed of his loss of control.

“Look at me, Cas,” Sam demanded, gently. Cas looked up through his eyelashes, worried that Sam had been frightened by his uncontrolled display of power. But, instead of fear, he saw only love, and awe.

“Of all the ways I expected my life to turn out, falling in love with an angel wasn’t one of them,” Sam said, smiling. Cas ducked his head, and Sam’s tone turned from teasing to serious.

“I’ll never regret it, Cas. I know you’re scared of hurting me, but you shouldn’t be. I know you won’t. You’re as much human as angel now.” Sam grinned, a loving smile that caused Cas’s heart to lift. “Let me show you.”

Sam reached out, carefully smoothing Cas’s hair away from his face. “What does that mean, Cas?”

Cas smiled. “It means ‘I love you’,” he whispered, remembering how he’d stroked Sam’s hair back from the hunter’s face, when Dean had retrieved him from the bluffs. Cas hadn’t realized then how much his feelings for Sam had changed, but clearly his human heart had known.

“And this?” Sam asked, caressing the side of Cas’s face, running a thumb gently along his bottom lip.

“The same,” Cas sighed, feeling a peace and happiness unlike anything he’d ever known flow through him.

“And this?” Sam whispered, leaning down to kiss him. Cas moaned, and felt Sam smile against his mouth. Cas felt his body stir back to life, and tried to grab Sam, to pull him closer.

Sam laughed, a rich, joyful sound. “Your education is complete, grasshopper.” At Cas’s confused look Sam laughed even harder, pressing his face against the angel’s neck. As Cas reached between them, Sam stilled him with a gentle kiss, his smile full of love, laughter, and mischief, all the things Cas had never thought he deserved.

 “I think we’ll have to wait a few minutes, Cas. After all, I’m only human.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s all she wrote, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, feel free to check out my other Sam/Cas fic!  
> This evolved from a very simple idea of Sam taking Cas to see a sunset to the seven chapter behemoth you see before you, so I really appreciate everyone sticking with me and your encouragement along the way, it’s seriously meant the world to me. Your comments and kudos make my day/month/year :)


End file.
